I was surprised at how relieved I was to learn that Lara was looking like she might pull through. I was surprised even more when I felt a tiny piece of my heart forgive her for having an affair with my ex. Hate was such an ugly, draining feeling to carry around. It took a lot of fuel to keep going, and I didn’t want to give Lara any more of myself than I had to.
“Are they still saying she was poisoned?” Zoey asked.
“Yeah.” More silence. He blinked slow, tired eyes.
“Larry, how long have you been here?” I asked.
“I came yesterday as soon as I heard. Maybe three?”
“And you haven’t left?”
“No.” He seemed taken aback at the question.
I wondered if he’d stayed out of devotion or in search of an opportunity to finish the job the poison had started.
“Are you and your sister close?” I asked.
“She’s not really my sister,” he said. “I mean she is, but she kind of feels like my mom. Mom left us with friends after Dad died. We lived a bunch of different places. Passed around. Lara raised me, mostly. She always made sure I was okay. Did anything for me.”
Like kill Ollie?
“What kind of things has she done for you?”
Larry’s expression turned sheepish, and his firmly-pressed-together lips twisted this way and that.
“We won’t tell anyone. I promise,” I said.
“She slept with one of my college professors so I could get the grade I needed to graduate. She doesn’t know I know that, but the professor gloated about it when no one else was around.”
“Has she ever been in your life when you didn’t want her to be in your life?” I asked. Maybe she was mother-henning him, and he needed to feel as though he could face life on his own. People had committed murder for odder reasons.
“Nooo… She’s my best friend.” He pointed at the ICU doors. “They won’t let me in to see her, but I can’t leave until I know she’s okay.” The redness of his eyes deepened and a tear slipped free. He quickly brushed it away and cleared his throat with manly deepness and crossed his arms over his chest.
He wasn’t putting on an act.
“Any idea who did this to her?” I asked, gently.
With his eyes glued to the ICU doors, he shook his head no. His mouth had a grim set to it, but a tiny quiver was growing in his chin.
“Do you know who might’ve hurt Oliver?”
Larry’s eyes shifted back to me. “Robert Cornish hated him. A lot. They’re having a party.” His gaze went back to the door. “My sister’s dying, and they’re having a party.” Another tear slipped free. He didn’t bother to brush this one away.
I reached out a hand and put it on Larry’s knee. I wanted to do more for him, but there was nothing to do.
“Where’s the party?” Zoey asked.
His eyes gleamed with unvented hate when he looked back at us.
“The falls.”
It was all he said.
Chapter 22
“Do you know where it is?” I asked once we’d gotten back in Zoey’s car. I’d never been to Camden Falls, the waterfall for which the town was named.
“Yeah. If they’re having a party, it’ll be at the lodge. We can be there in about an hour.”
“An hour?” I didn’t think anything in this town took that long to get to. Of course, Camden Falls wasn’t in town. It was in a nearby state park.
“Curvy roads,” Zoey said.
Curvy was an understatement. I screamed and put my hands over my face more than once as Zoey took the hairpin curves at speeds that I was sure would end with us at the bottom of a fifty-foot drop. I was shaking by the time we pulled into adjoining sections of the parking lot and weaved our way toward the log-built lodge at the far back.
“Did you really need to pass that car on a blind curve?” I asked. I was shaking.
“It wasn’t blind. It was foreshadowed.”
“Now you’re just throwing words around.”
“I got a look at the oncoming side of the road through the trees before we got there. It was clear.”
I needed a drink. Desperately.
It was a long walk from the parking lot to the lodge entrance. Even though I was sure the waterfall was at least half a mile away, a constant dull roar filled the air. It was the sound of thousands of gallons of water plummeting over a rock ledge. All around us the vegetation was lush, and the air was so humid that my skin felt tacky by the time we pushed through the lodge’s front door.
Cool air that at first felt chilling washed over me.
“There’s nobody here,” I said. The lobby was empty.
“There are lounge rooms. They probably rented one out.”
Looking around, I was impressed. The lodge managed to feel both upscale and cozy at the same time. The exposed logs were polished smooth and stained just enough to bring out their natural beauty. The deep, earthy browns of the unprocessed wood were paired with the almost kaleidoscope colorings of river rock, which were used in arching doorways and two towering fireplaces.
“This is nice. Why didn’t they hold the conference out here?” Somebody could have pushed Ollie over the waterfall a lot easier than squishing him under a dumpster.
“Good question. Let’s find Robert Cornish.”
A no-nonsense middle-aged lady at the customer service desk pointed us in the direction we needed to go.
We headed through the lodge until we reached the back. Then we stepped out onto a large, deep veranda overlooking the entire valley and the pre-waterfall river that ran through it. Sure enough, just as described by the service desk attendant, there was a wooden walkway cutting through overhanging vegetation at the far end of the veranda. The path ended at glass-front french doors leading into a room almost as large as my banquet hall.
Inside, people were clumped together in groups of four or five. People were smiling, laughing, and drinking from overflowing champagne flutes.
I put my hand on the door’s handle to open it, but the touch of Zoey’s hand stopped me.
She pointed, and I looked. Standing amongst the revelers was Sebastian—smiling as big and laughing as loud as anyone else in the room.
I looked hurriedly at Zoey. Her expression was grim.
“It doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” I said.
She didn’t say anything. She simply stared, then she took a step back. “You go. I’ll stay out here.”
“Zoey—”
“No,” she said, cutting me off. “Do what you need to do.”
I had been worried that Zoey might choose Sebastian over revealing the truth of what happened to Oliver. I realized now that I’d never needed to worry at all.
I gave her a nod, then faced forward and went inside. When I glanced back over my shoulder, she was gone.
The moment Sebastian saw me, he choked on his champagne and had to spit it out. The group around him came undone in gales of laughter. He made his excuses to the group, and then hot-footed it over to me.
“I know how it looks,” he said as soon as he reached me. “It’s not how it looks.”
“How does it look?” I asked him. I wanted to hear the incriminating words from his own lips.
He took a breath to speak, but then released it with his mouth clammed up.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I should ask you the same,” he said, going on the defensive.
“But you didn’t. I asked you.” It was a childish comeback, I knew, but in this case, it worked.
Sebastian pursed his lips, and his face seemed to age by ten years. He’d looked fine at a distance, but up close he looked like someone who had lived through a haunted house gone wrong. Very wrong.
“Come on,” he said, hooking my arm with his and hurrying us outside. Zoey was still nowhere in sight. No one was. The thick vegetations of trees, ferns, and vines provided a sense of isolation that I was sure was false. Someone could be five feet away from us and we wouldn’t know
it.
“A lot has changed in a very short period of time,” Sebastian said, stopping us a few feet past the closed french doors. “My company—my dad’s company—is in flux. People are going to think it’s vulnerable. I’ve already had five clients—five”—he held up his hand with fingers spread wide for emphasis—“cancel longstanding accounts with us and moved them over to PaperMore.”
“Is that a lot?” I asked. Paperworx was a leading packaging company for the whole Eastern Seaboard.
“One of the accounts is big. Very big. Three of the accounts are mid-range big and one is small, but all it takes is a few loose pebbles to start an avalanche. If I don’t get on top of this, we could lose everything. I don’t have the luxury of grieving my father the way I want to. I don’t get to hide under the covers and drink myself into a stupor for weeks. I have to show that I can step up and be what my dad’s company needs me to be… when it needs me to be it.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. “I don’t want it to be this way.”
I studied his face. He looked sickly pale and had dark circles under his eyes. His expression was somewhere between pleading and resigned. There might have even been a small dash of hopelessness.
“What about your girlfriend—Daria Cornish—does she want it to be this way?”
To say that Sebastian’s eyes went wide was an understatement. They became like saucers.
“You leave her out of this!” Sebastian exclaimed, taking a step closer. There was a franticness about him that I’d never seen before. “She’s not involved in this, and you leave her alone!” He punctuated his words by driving the tip of his finger repeatedly into the upper part of my chest.
On issues relating to Daria Cornish, I was pretty sure that Sebastian Drysdale could become violent.
Good to know.
I decided to press further. “If she has nothing to do with any of this, then why should I leave her out? Seems like she’d have nothing to lose because she’d have nothing to hide.”
“Gah! You people!” Sebastian pulled at his hair and turned in a circle.
He was a man on edge. I was pretty sure I could make enough of a ruckus that if he attacked me, someone from somewhere would be there to pull him off.
“All you people do is push, push, push! Stick your little finger into the wound and wiggle it around. Well, I’m telling you, leave her alone! She’s out of this!”
I considered his choice of words. Did saying she was out of this imply that she had once been in this?
“Sebastian, what did Daria do?”
He was up in my face again in the blink of an eye. “She did what she had to do. It’s what any of us do—what we have to. Now leave this alone or… or… you won’t like what happens next.”
I felt like Sebastian was close to a confession—maybe not his, but somebody’s. I needed to push him more, but he wheeled around to go. I was bold enough to grab his arm, but he shook me off. He was on the other side of the french doors a half second later. With his shoulder to it, he had his phone out, punching at its face with his finger as aggressively as he’d done to my chest. There’d be a bruise, I was sure. On me, not the phone.
He got the phone to his ear, glanced through the windows and then startled. He then made a rude gesture and moved out of sight.
I stared through the now-vacant windows. Daria was nowhere in sight.
Turning my back on it, I headed down the short, secluded path to the lodge. Zoey was standing next to the stone banister that framed the edge of the veranda. She’d been nowhere close enough to overhear my conversation with Sebastian.
I stepped up next to her. The view overlooking the valley was as perfect as something out of a painting.
“Did you happen to spot Daria when we were at the french doors?” I asked.
She shook her head. Then asked, “Is he guilty?”
“I don’t think he killed his father, but there’s a chance Daria did. Sebastian’s Hulk persona came out when I asked him about her. He turned super protective.” I hesitated to tell her the rest, then forged forward. “I think he could even get violent if that was what he felt he had to do.”
Her head snapped to look at me. “Did he get violent with you?”
“No,” I lied. It was a lie I could feel good about. She didn’t need to know everything.
“Daria’s father is here. I think that room is full of a bunch of Paperworx’s employees. If Daria’s not in there, I’m guessing she’s somewhere near.”
Zoey turned her back to the valley and looked at the lodge.
“She has a distinctive look,” I said. “If she is here, I bet someone would remember her.”
We went inside and started asking every employee we came across if they’d seen a woman with fierce lipstick, shorter than short hair, and fashionable high heels. I hadn’t seen her today, but I was guessing she’d stay somewhat consistent with her wardrobe.
“A little scary looking, but a little sad, too?” a young man wielding a mop bucket asked.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Yeah, I think I saw her back toward the kitchens.” He pointed us in the direction we needed to go, and we headed off.
We wove our way through what seemed like a labyrinth of hallways. The decor became less romantic and more functional as we went.
We rounded a corner and saw the person we were looking for step out of an open stairwell. She saw us, too, and she bolted. Her reaction confirmed my suspicion that it had been Daria who Sebastian had called. And not only had he called her, he’d warned her against us.
The pair of them were looking guiltier and guiltier by the second.
Zoey and I sprinted forward and made it to the stairwell just in time to see Daria disappear at the top. The girl was fast!
Suddenly, I found myself shoulder-locked in the stairwell entrance with Zoey, but I fell forward and did a scrambling crawl to free the two of us. Not that it did any good for catching up to Daria. By the time we reached the second floor, she was gone. Not only that, but there were a lot of closed doors.
Zoey took one direction and I took the other. We checked each door as we passed it, trying to find one that wasn’t locked. They were all locked.
After a tense moment of silence, Zoey’s cell phone rang. She pulled it out, looked at its front, then held it up for me to see. Sebastian was now calling her.
She clicked to answer and put the call on speaker so that we could both hear.
“Leave Daria alone!” Sebastian’s rage-filled voice spilled through. “You do not want to mess with me, and you definitely do not want to mess with her!” His rant continued, but Zoey hung up on him.
“Let’s go,” Zoey said. “We’re not going to find her here, not without busting down doors. That’ll get the cops on us and land us twenty-four hours in jail. We remain a threat if we leave.”
And if I wasn’t mistaken, Sebastian and Daria remained a threat if they stayed.
Chapter 23
It was a long, quiet trip home. We stopped at an out-of-the-way Italian place run by a generational family who might as well have been fresh off the plane from Italy. We ate comfort food in the form of three kinds of pasta followed by the best tiramisu I’d ever had.
I managed to walk rather than roll my way back to the car, barely.
“You wanna come to the cooking class Chef John is teaching tonight?” I asked. Zoey hadn’t said much since we’d left the falls, and I didn’t want her stewing in her own thoughts all night long.
“Can’t. I’ve got a call scheduled with Dubai.”
I wasn’t sure if she meant the country itself or a person in the country. I was curious, but I wasn’t sure I should know the answer. I wasn’t sure it would be good for my health.
Zoey dropped me off in front of the café a little while later. When I walked through the front door, my mouth fell open wide enough for a bumblebee to fly in.
The first thing I noticed was that the place was packed. To-the-rafters packed.
The second
thing I noticed was how amazing the place smelled! I’d just eaten, but it had my mouth watering like a fire hydrant.
I did a quick glance at the tables around me to see what people were eating. I saw fried oysters, hand-rolled linguini and clams, and creamy risotto. “Rack of lamb?” How had Chef John managed all of this?
Melanie and Sam were both there, and I felt bad and happy for them at the same time. They were rushing from table to table, doing their best to keep up with each customer’s demands, but the tips… Wow, the tips! The little pocket in the front of Melanie’s apron was nearly overflowing.
As for Chef John, he was behind the grill’s bar. He was standing next to a reporter, and a man with a fifty-pound camera perched on his shoulder was capturing every moment. I stepped closer so that I could hear.
“Chef Radde,” the reporter said only to be interrupted.
“Please, call me Chef John.” His smile and charm were dazzling.
The seasoned male reporter was not immune. He laughed, smiled back, and said into his handheld mic, “Chef John, what’s brought you and your—if I may say—legendary skill here to our sleepy hamlet? The Berry Home is an eatery known for its questionable quality. In fact, some even love the adventure of coming in here because they never know what they’ll get. Yet you’ve transformed it into a fine dining experience in less than a day. Why have you done it, and can we expect this to be the new way of things at The Berry Home?”
“Well, I haven’t put in a bid on the place yet but don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind,” Chef John answered with a wink. “The café’s new owner is a dear friend of mine, and she tries hard, but this life isn’t for everyone.”
At least he hadn’t said my name, I thought to myself as I disappeared back out the front door. There was no way I wanted to end up on camera after an introduction like that.
Chef John’s words had stung—mostly because they’d been true.
I headed around to the back and let myself in through the kitchen door. I found Sage curled up and sleeping in a corner, draped her over my shoulder and headed upstairs. Once there, I plopped down on my floor mattress and curled up with Sage in my arms for us to take a nap together. Sleep didn’t come quick. Instead, Chef John’s words kept ringing in my ears. He’d insinuated that he was thinking of buying the place—my café—and a part of me wondered if I should let him.
A Berry Baffling Businessman Page 14