A Berry Horrible Holiday

by A. R. Winters

  I willed invisible daggers at his back, but he still refused to take notice.

  The heat of Zoey’s stare forced me to pull my gaze away from them and look at her. “What?” I asked, misdirecting my snippiness at her.

  “You know what.”

  I rolled my eyes. Just this once, why couldn’t I have someone less perceptive as a best friend? “What about it?”

  "Whatever you're going to do about it," Zoey said, handing me an orange wedge, "I want in."

  My smile was slow and felt sinister. "Consider yourself in..."

  Chapter 7

  The committee of vultures had ravaged through most of the food I’d laid out on the table when Sheriff Palke looked around her. Her gaze fell on me. "Is there any coffee?"

  I wanted to look around me from side to side to see who else she could be talking to, but there was no one else in my general vicinity other than Zoey. No way was she asking Zoey, so it had to be me.

  What the heck? Did I have kitchen wench stamped on my forehead? Sheriff Palke hadn’t even been in here when I’d laid out the food.

  I fumed in silence, doing my best not to let my anger register on my face.

  Maybe I could lace her coffee with a little Ex-Lax. Why the heck wasn't she questioning me some more about the heels-up guy out in the orchard? Wasn't that more important than coffee?

  With that thought, one part of my brain waved a dismissive hand at the rest of my brain. It knew the truth.

  Of course there was nothing more important than coffee!

  I offered Sheriff Palke a tight smile. "I don't work here."

  "Thanks for the grub, Kylie!" Gaunt-Face yelled over his shoulder on his way out.

  I scowled. Busted.

  "Oh... hey, Kylie," Brad said, finally spotting me. That was the full span of time his attention stayed on me before shifting back to Sheriff Palke. "How long will it take to get news back from your crime scene crew?"

  She shrugged graceful, beautiful shoulders. Shoulders that belonged on a ballerina rather than a woman standing in the spot between the total chaos and ordered structure of the unruly masses. "Depends on what they unearth when they dig up the body. That crime scene photographer of yours any good?"

  "The investigators who've seen—well, more than anyone should—they consider Joel their go-to guy."

  I imagined Brad was referring to Detective Gregson back home. The guy was… intense, but I supposed he had plenty of reason to be after everything he’d seen and been through.

  Sheriff Palke nodded, satisfied. Her gaze returned to me. "So do those coffee beans need roasting or what?"

  The nerve!

  But I kept my cool, answering, “Nah, I just need to wait for them to get pooped out by my cat." Coffee made in such a way was the most expensive coffee in the world, after all.

  Rather than get annoyed with me, Sheriff Palke's lips pulled up in a tiny smile that nonetheless managed to reach her eyes. "Maybe we can go with a more standard house brew for now—until the other is done, of course."

  Dang it! I could see why Brad liked her. I hated myself just a little for starting to like her too.

  I hopped down from the countertop and cringed as sharp pain shot through my ankle and triggered a hot, throbbing ache that matched the tempo of my heartbeat. It was worse than when I was lying on the ground after taking a tumble down that hill. I'd forgotten about its damaged state.

  Brad and Sheriff Palke were already back to talking and didn't notice. A sadness settled over me as I limped my way over to a cupboard that I’d already figured out held the coffee cups. I didn't ask if she wanted sugar and milk. I simply loaded the cup up the way I would make it and handed it over. I secretly hoped that she'd hate it, but instead she said nothing. She took a sip and pressed on with her conversation. That was somehow worse than if she’d hated it or loved it. It confirmed a fear I hadn’t known I had.

  I was unimportant. Invisible. What I did held no value or importance. I was irrelevant.

  Ouch.

  It had been such a long time since I had been any of those things. The taste the experience left in my mouth was sour and bitter. My anger at Brad deepened. He was supposed to be my champion, not the man who failed to even notice when I was being actively forgotten.

  Brad and Sheriff Palke ate their sandwiches, drank to their fill, and then left without a word of thanks. The sheriff’s posse followed her lead like a litter of pups, trailing out the kitchen door behind her.

  I watched the entire kitchen empty out, save for Zoey. She still sat on the kitchen counter, and I stood next to her with my arms crossed and vile contemplation in my heart.

  Irrelevant? I’d show them.

  "You gonna solve the murder, show her up, make them all look dumb?"

  "Yep." It was good that Zoey knew me so well.

  Chapter 8

  "I thought you didn't want anything to do with the case," Joel said. We were in our B&B bedroom, and he was sitting on his bed. Zoey and I were sitting on mine. We'd folded up the partition dividing the beds and leaned it against the far wall. Joel's camera was in his hands, and he was dividing his attention between its viewer window and us. I had a plastic bag of ice on my ankle, and it was already feeling better.

  "I changed my mind," I said.

  He lifted his eyes to look at me without lifting his head.

  "What?" I asked, uncomfortable with his deadpan stare.

  He went back to clicking through the pictures he'd captured on his camera. "That Sheriff Palke sure is pretty."

  "I hadn't noticed," I said, my words clipped. I could see Joel's answering smirk even with his head down. He didn't believe me. "What's that got to do with anything? Why are you even mentioning how gorgeously stunning she is?" I shot back.

  Joel put his camera down and gave me his full attention. "I said pretty. Gorgeously stunning were your words."

  I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes and shoving out my lower lip in a pout.

  Zoey stretched an arm out into the gap between the beds, and Joel handed his camera over. Putting it in her lap, she stared into the viewing window and clicked through the images. I leaned in so that I could see them too.

  "Wait. Back up," I said. "What's that?" I leaned closer. Front and center in the picture were Doug's legs, sprouting up out of the ground like a tall tree in the making. But him, his tan overalls, and his heavy work boots weren't my focus. I was doing my best to look past him at the ground to the side. "Is that… another hole?"

  Joel reached a hand out, and Zoey handed the camera back. He looked at the picture. "Yeah, a pretty big one, too. And that wasn't the only one. There were four more."

  "In a line?" Zoey asked.

  "No. They made a pattern. Kind of like a hexagon," he said.

  "Did you get a picture of them?" I asked.

  "Individually, yes. But I couldn't get a picture of them in a way that showed the pattern. Too many trees and no way to get the right elevation. The only hole that was visible from beyond the orchard was the one Doug was in, and the only reason you were able to spot it, Kylie, was because it was marked."

  " Are they sure it was Doug? How do they know?"

  Joel grimaced. "It was him. I was out there for hours documenting everything as they dug him up."

  "Ohhhh." My voice trailed off as I took in the implication of his words. "Did he look bad?"

  "He didn't look good," Joel said.

  "You okay?" I had no idea what I'd do if he said he wasn't.

  Joel gave me a reassuring wink that warmed my heart. "I'm good."

  Zoey had the camera back in her hands, and she was flipping through the photos again. "What if you drew lines between the holes—could they have made a star?"

  Joel's gaze drifted upward as he thought, then he said, "Yeah, I think so."

  "Could have been a symbol. Magic."

  "What would card tricks have to do with it? Ohhh, you think Doug could have been trying to do a Houdini and things went wrong?"

  "N
o, I mean like dark magic. Sorcery. Witches. Stuff like that."

  I imagined the holes, and I imagined Doug sticking up out of them. That's when I realized the real difference between them. Doug's hole had been filled… with Doug. The other holes were still empty! "Whoever did this could be planning more murders," I said. Given that there were only eighteen or so people—employees plus guests—at the Red Maple Apples B&B and four more holes remaining to be filled, our odds of making it through the weekend alive took a sudden nosedive. Literally, I realized, after considering Doug's precarious final position.

  "We could be next," I said, giving my fears voice.

  Zoey shrugged. "Hard to say. Maybe tree boy brought it on himself."

  I cringed at Zoey's choice of words, but they were apt. Doug had been Mama Hendrix's orchard manager, and he'd gotten planted like a tree. But I didn't understand how he could have brought his ending on himself.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "What do we really know about him?" Zoey said. "Maybe he was a warlock. Ohhh, or a druid. That would've been cool."

  "Didn't the druids all get slaughtered by the Romans?" Joel asked.

  My head was spinning. I felt kind of clueless in Joel and Zoey's company. Next, they'd be talking about alchemy and how to turn lead into gold.

  I decided to latch onto the one thing that Zoey had said that was actually relevant. "You're right. We don't know much about him." I thought a moment. There had been one thing I'd learned. Actually, there'd been a few things I'd learned since finding his body. "But we do know a little. He had a girlfriend."

  Joel’s jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide. "He what? How'd you find that out?"

  I knit my brows and thought things through with as much remembered detail as I could. Finally, I had to concede that my assumption might not have been right. "Well, maybe she wasn't his girlfriend, but he sure was something to her."

  "What happened?" Zoey asked.

  I sighed. What I was about to tell them wouldn't look very good on me. "I wasn't even thinking. After I came back from the mulch trail, I wandered around and eventually ended up in the kitchen. Mama Hendrix's kitchen helper was there—I don't even know her name. She asked what was going on, and I just told her. I opened up my mouth and let the words spill out without a thought for any feelings that someone who knew him might have."

  Zoey and Joel continued to look at me expectantly, then Joel asked, “So what’d she say?”

  I shrugged. “Not a whole lot. She thought I was joking at first. Then when she figured out I wasn’t, she ran out of the kitchen. She ran off toward, well, toward where Doug was found, then she stopped and ran for her car. Tore out so fast she threw gravel.”

  Zoey’s brows were up. “Sounds like guilt to me.”

  “Yeah,” Joel agreed. “It was a well-timed exit.”

  I pinched my brows together as I thought, trying to massage some insight directly into my brain. I replayed the moment in my head. At first, she didn’t believe me. Then she did believe me. “She ran out of the kitchen toward Brad and the sheriff, then she just stopped. Stopped dead in her tracks before running for her car.”

  Joel let loose with a low whistle. “Guiltier by the second. You might have this one solved in record time, Kylie.”

  My brow pinch shifted into a full-on face scrunch, and I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.” Then doubt crept in, and I said again, “Nooo… right?”

  “You said it yourself,” Joel said. “She stopped and changed directions when she saw the sheriff.”

  I recalled what she’d looked like as she stood with her back to me. “Her shoulders were shaking, enough that I could see it from the kitchen. I’m pretty sure she was sobbing.” I thought some more. “No, just doesn’t feel right to me, but we should talk to her. I’ll ask Mama Hendrix about her. Get her contact info.”

  “Do we know when Doug died?” Zoey asked Joel.

  “The crime scene guys didn’t do a lot of talking. They mostly took some readings, collected samples, and took a lot of notes in their notebooks.”

  “We saw him yesterday just after we got here,” I said. “He was chewing out the stocky guy who worked with him.”

  “Tim,” Zoey offered.

  “Right,” I said. “Doug was chewing out his assistant. That’s the first and last I saw of him. Did you see him again after that?” I asked Joel. He’d been with me at that time.

  He shook his head.

  “What about you?” I asked Zoey. “We last saw him sometime after one o’clock yesterday.”

  Zoey shook her head. “Not that I recall. I’ll ask the Citizen Justice guys if any of them saw him after that.”

  “The competition continuing?” Joel asked.

  “Oh, yeah. They’re convinced the murder was staged, that it was all fake. They think it’s part of the competition.”

  If only Doug had been so lucky.

  “What about Brad and cop lady?” Zoey asked Joel.

  I sent her a huge mental thank you for broaching a topic I desperately wanted to hear more about but had been too ashamed to bring up again.

  “Sheriff lady,” Joel corrected, “and what about them?”

  “Is Brad into her or what?”

  My breath froze in my lungs. Zoey was so direct! There she was, asking the question my heart desperately wanted to know.

  But Zoey and I weren’t fooling anyone. Joel’s gaze knowingly flicked from her to me, and my face flushed hot at the silent indication that he knew it was really me who wanted to know.

  Joel returned his gaze to Zoey. “I’ve had the chance to overhear some of their conversations,” he said. “Brad seems—”

  A heavy, thudding knock rattled the door.

  No! Don’t stop! Tell me more!

  Joel got up and headed for the door without uttering another word.

  Nooooo!!!

  Chapter 9

  Joel pulled open the door of our B&B bedroom to reveal Gaunt-Faced Guy from the Citizen’s Justice League competition. The guy glanced once at Joel and then bobbed and weaved to see past him. This took some work, since Joel’s body filled most of the open door.

  “Oh, yo!” Gaunt-Faced Guy exclaimed as he ducked under Joel’s arm to step inside the room. His gaze was fixed squarely on me. “So, uh, we’re out of sandwiches.” He stood there expectantly. It was as if he thought his simple statement explained why the sun set and the moon and stars rose.

  Since he wasn’t looking at anyone but me, I said, “Okay…” I stretched the word out.

  I wasn’t stupid. I knew what he was implying. He wanted me to jump up and run to make him and his cronies some more sandwiches. But imagine this—I wasn’t feelin’ it. It wasn’t my job to make him sandwiches, and he wasn’t moving me in any way to want to go make those sandwiches.

  “Yeah, okay then.” He continued to stand there and stare, but not for long. “Hey! Yo! What gives?” he exclaimed when Joel’s plate-sized hand descended on the back of his neck and clamped down.

  The man soon found himself stumbling backward as Joel moved him from inside the bedroom to standing on the other side of the still-open door. “Yo, man, what gives? You gotta problem? Get your hand off me, dude!”

  Gaunt-Face shrugged and swiped his arm up to brush Joel’s hand away. It was a move that would have been completely ineffective if Joel hadn’t allowed it to work.

  “See that?” Joel asked, pointing to a spot on the floor that was in line with the doorframe.

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “It’s the threshold to this room.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Don’t cross it.”

  “Oh yeah? Or what?” Gaunt-Face challenged.

  “Do you really wanna know? Can you be that stupid?”

  Somehow, I thought he might actually be.

  “Hey, where you from? Your accent’s, like, slow-minded, like you don’t got a lot of smarts.”

  “Kentucky,” Joel drawled in a warning voice.

 
; “We might end up cleaning up blood,” I whispered to Zoey.

  “Ha! That explains it,” Gaunt-Face said with a condescending sneer on his face.

  He barged into the room again and immediately found himself stumbling backward out into the hallway once more.

  Joel had sent him sprawling with the mere shove of his hand. He followed up by swinging the door shut just hard enough to lightly slam it into place. Not enough to rattle the walls, but enough to get his message across.

  He moved back to his spot to sit on the bed across from Zoey and me.

  The bedroom door opened and gently creaked itself wide in a slow arc.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Joel muttered, going from halfway sitting to fully standing. “You got a death wish, buddy?”

  “That’s a clue, right there!” Gaunt-Face said as he jabbed a finger-pointing hand into the room. He jerked it back just as fast so that no part of him was over or past the threshold. He shifted his attention to me. “Hey, toots, how ‘bout those sandwiches? We need our brain food.”

  That was the understatement of the year. They didn’t need sandwiches; they needed a non-stop three-day feast. Maybe then he’d get a clue about not having any clues, or smarts, or any sense of self-preservation whatsoever.

  Joel was headed back across the room toward him.

  Gaunt-Face jerked his head back, but it wasn’t because of Joel, and it wasn’t because of me. In his infinite wisdom, he’d finally spotted Zoey.

  “Hey! What the heck you doin’ up here? You a plant? You a mole? You workin’ both sides of this thing or something? We need you! Get back to the tent already!”

  Joel was at the door, and his arm shot out to grab the guy, but Gaunt-Face darted away, evading capture. “Sandwiches!” he yelled from somewhere out of sight.

  Joel slammed the door shut. This time, it did rattle the walls.

  We all waited, staring at the door.

  The handle didn’t turn, and the thing didn’t creak back open. Our little visitor had finally gone.

  Zoey stood and stretched a lithe body that could have thrived while locked in yoga poses for hours. “I’d better get back down.”