The notorious murder trial involved everyone connected with the show and led me to rethink my career choices. I returned home to become an entrepreneur, assuming this spelled the end of any involvement with murder. So far, that had not been the case.
“But you sell berries,” Leticia insisted, “even if you don’t grow them yourself.”
“I’ve always loved berries. And I have fond memories of playing in the family orchards. A berry-themed shop seemed like a good idea. It’s proved to be just that.” I gave her an indulgent smile. “But I still wouldn’t say I’m devoted to berries. My interest is professional.”
“Either way, you should know why I need mulberries to protect me.”
I felt both confused and intrigued. “Like most berries, mulberries provide significant health benefits. They contain calcium, iron, vitamin K and vitamin C, as well as riboflavin. They’re rich in antioxidants, especially the anti-inflammatory agent resveratrol, also found in red wine. The components in mulberries help slow down the aging process.”
I made a mental note to include this information in my Wednesday Holistic Hints talk. “Mulberries regulate cholesterol and blood sugar levels,” I continued. “Their carotenoids may help prevent vision problems like cataracts and macular degeneration. I have an aunt who uses mulberries to treat her blemishes and age—”
Leticia held up her hand. “Is that all you know about mulberries? A list of nutrients?”
She had a point. Leticia came to me because she believed someone wanted to kill her. The nutritional content of mulberries didn’t offer protection from that.
“Give me a minute.” The first thing that came to mind was the English nursery rhyme “Pop Goes the Weasel.” But I doubted any form of protection could be derived from a monkey chasing a weasel around a mulberry bush.
“Mulberries produce their buds quickly,” I said. “Observers in the Greco-Roman world believed this speedy process must be magical. To the Greeks, the mulberry represented wisdom and expediency. They dedicated the mulberry bush to Athena, goddess of wisdom.”
“Wisdom.” She closed her eyes. “Expediency. Magic.”
Uncertain of what she required, I added, “The Japanese fed mulberries to the silkworms that produced the fiber for kimonos. In fact, the only food silkworms will eat are mulberries. In Japan, mulberries symbolize self-sacrifice, as well as the desire to nurture and support.”
Leticia opened her eyes and stared out at the lake once more. “Continue.”
“Excuse me, but I don’t see how any of this stuff about mulberries can help protect you.”
“A berry expert would know.”
I hated to not do well on a test, and I felt like I was failing now. Rifling my memory once more, I thought back to German folklore, which portrayed mulberry trees as evil. It was believed the devil used the tree’s roots to polish his boots. Yet how would that help Leticia? I looked out at the lake. The sun reflecting off the water made me shade my eyes. The sun!
I turned back to Leticia with renewed confidence. “The Chinese associated the mulberry tree with the rising sun. They saw the mulberry as an aid against evil. In fact, arrows shot from a bow made of mulberry wood were believed to drive away evil.”
Her face lit up. “Exactly.”
Now I understood. “Wands made of mulberry served the same purpose. They were a magical source of power and strength.”
“If used correctly, mulberries act as a shield against dark forces.” She examined me closely. “I knew you would understand.”
“In a way. But covering your house with berries doesn’t seem practical.” It might be time to lighten the mood. Encouraging this fantasy seemed unwise. “Maybe you need a bow and arrow made of mulberry wood.” I smiled. “Or a mulberry wand.”
She did not return my smile. Instead, her expression grew more somber. I regretted my joking comment. Leticia might very well have stockpiled a few arrows and wands.
“Elderberries are even more powerful in the magical world than mulberries,” I went on. “J. K. Rowling featured an elder wand in the Harry Potter books for that very reason. And the people who run Elderwood Farm are in the park right now. I’m sure they could supply you with enough elderberries to cover your house.” I’d prefer Elderwood Farm cater to her delusions.
She shook her head vigorously. “That farm is an abomination. They corrupted their land. Poisoned it! Their elderberries are tainted and drained of power. No. I need mulberries. And no berry possesses as much power here in Oriole Point. The village was founded because of orioles and mulberries. That’s why I moved here. Mulberries protect the town.”
Leticia knew her local history. In 1830, Piper’s ancestor Benjamin Lyall camped along the Oriole River. When he awoke the next morning, the first thing he saw were flocks of orioles eating the berries of a nearby mulberry tree. This inspired Benjamin to found a town right where he had camped and to name it Oriole Point. Because of this story, Piper regarded orioles as the avian version of angels. So how could I blame Leticia for thinking mulberries might hold special sway in Oriole Point?
There didn’t seem to be anyway around this but to give her what she wanted. “I have a reliable vendor near the Indiana border. He’s open on Saturday. I’ll call this morning and get a price on bags of dried mulberries. Assuming he has enough in stock.” I frowned. “Do you need to cover every inch of your house? That many mulberries could take time to order and ship.”
“More would be better, but the need is urgent.” Leticia didn’t look happy about this. “Order enough bags to place around the borders of my windows and doors.” She gave me the number of doors and windows at her house, and their approximate sizes.
I tried to calculate how many bags to order. “If the berries are in stock, he can ship them directly to you. With luck, they could be here by Tuesday.”
“I won’t allow a stranger to come to my home. Have the berries sent to your shop. I’ll pick them up. My scooter has a storage box.”
Ah, yes. Her scooter. The only other times I’d seen Letitia anywhere but the beach was when she motored through town on her purple scooter.
“Your scooter’s storage box won’t be able to hold that many mulberries. If you like, I can deliver it to your cottage.”
“Only if you bring it. No one else.” Leticia told me her address, which I entered in my phone.
“Could I have your phone number, too? In case there’s a problem with the order.”
Leticia looked conflicted about this request. After a moment, she gave me her phone number, but added, “I rarely speak on the phone. I’d feel safer if you sent me an email.”
Learning she used email surprised me. Did Leticia the Lake Lady have a presence on Twitter and Insta-gram, too? I was even more surprised at her email address. The name “Leticia” did not appear anywhere in it. But “Mulberry Mischief ” did.
“Looking at your email address, it appears you love berries as much as I do.”
“Only mulberries. I have no use for the others.”
I slipped my phone back into my cross-body bag. “Too bad you didn’t come to me this summer. Mulberry trees grow in front of my house. My lawn is littered with mulberries when they ripen. Especially from the big trees that shade my Adirondack chairs. I could have given you hundreds of my own berries then.”
Her face took on a beatific expression. “You live among mulberry trees? It is a sign that I have chosen well.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that so I simply said, “When I get a price on the berries, I’ll email you. A thirty-pound case might cost about two hundred and fifty dollars. That doesn’t include shipping, of course.”
“This should cover shipping.” She reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a wad of cash. When she unrolled it, I saw they were all hundred-dollar bills. I felt my eyes pop out of my head. She tried to hand me four hundred dollars, but I waved her away.
“That’s too much,” I protested. “I’ll get the exact price and email you.”
She pressed the money into my hand. “If you need more, I’ll pay you upon delivery. Please. I have no time to argue.”
I suspected it would be pointless to refuse. “Okay, I’ll email your receipt. Any discrepancies in cost can be handled when I deliver the berries.”
“Good. I should not be seen in town for a while.” She looked behind her. “It’s not safe.”
I tucked the money into my bag. “How did you become so intrigued by mulberries?”
“I had a roommate once. The most intelligent person I ever met. She spoke six languages. And she taught me about the natural world, a world of mystery and magic. She spoke with plants and trees. They imparted their secrets to her.” Leticia leaned nearer. “Never harm a beech tree. They are vengeful and will tell the other trees to injure you.”
I didn’t ask how. I saw no purpose in encouraging revenge fantasies, arboreal or human.
“She communicated with berry trees and bushes, too. Each type of berry possesses mysterious properties, like crystals do.”
“Such as?”
“Blueberries draw harmony into your life.” She pointed at my red enamel earrings in the shape of strawberries. “I don’t want to alarm you, but strawberries bring strife.”
I wasn’t alarmed. In my experience, strawberries brought pleasure, especially when baked in a pie. “Do you remember the special properties given to other berries?”
“Cranberries are for romance. Blackberries evoke vivid dreams. Raspberries provide solace in troubled times.” She raised her eyebrow at me. “And mulberries produce magic.”
“According to your email address, mulberries also cause mischief.”
“Each berry has more than one power. For mulberries, it’s magic and mischief.”
All this alliteration made me think of Piper’s health fair and the plethora of words beginning with “H.” I hoped the alliteration for mulberry stopped with “magic” and “mischief.” Because after my conversation with Leticia, I feared mulberries might also be tied to madness.
Chapter Three
“Trick or Treat!”
I smiled at Minnie. I doubted there was an African gray parrot with a better vocabulary in Michigan. Maybe even the Midwest. Since adopting her in June, I’d counted over three hundred words in her repertoire, with new ones added weekly. She was a quick learner. Especially since I often brought her to The Berry Basket, thereby exposing her to endless conversations from the staff and customers.
“Trick or Treat!” she repeated from her wooden perch. “Andrew is sweet!”
I turned to the front counter where my employee Andrew Cabot sat laughing. “When did you teach her to say that?”
“Don’t blame me. Minnie’s smart enough to recognize my sweet nature on her own.”
“You’re such a liar. What other phrases have you taught her? They better be G-rated.”
“I’m the boss,” Minnie said, then whistled. “I woke up like this.”
I chuckled. “I see you’re playing Beyoncé for Minnie when I’m not here.”
“I sing the songs to her, too. Throw in a few dance moves.” Andrew did a quick demonstration behind the counter. “Minnie and I have to do something when things get slow.”
“Hi ho, hi ho,” Minnie sang out from her perch near the window. “Kiss for Mommy.”
“Mommy wants a kiss, too.” I kissed the top of Minnie’s gray feathered head, then gave her a scratch. She closed her eyes in contentment.
I kept a four-foot-tall perch in the store, along with bird toys and her favorite foods. When she grew sleepy, I let her nap in the travel cage in my back office. My regular customers now expected to be greeted by Minnie and were disappointed on the days when I left her at home.
“Give me a cashew,” she murmured, prompting me to take a cashew out of my apron pocket. I always carried around a supply of her favorite snack.
After eating the cashew, Minnie gave a perfect imitation of the high-pitched bark of my friend Natasha’s Yorkie. Not one of my favorite imitations since Minnie liked to bark almost as much as little Dasha did.
As the barking continued, I turned my attention outside the shop window. The lovely weather we had enjoyed over the weekend had ended. I woke to cloudy skies and rain. It had rained steadily all day, giving me a case of Monday-morning blues.
“A good thing Piper’s health fair is being held indoors for the rest of the week. My weather app says there might be more rain tomorrow. And temperatures are dropping.”
“It better stay dry for the parade on Saturday. Oscar and I spent a lot of money on our costumes.” Andrew held up his iPad to show me a photo of two cast members from the musical Hamilton. “Oscar’s dressing as Hamilton, and I’m Thomas Jefferson.”
Oscar Lucas owned a florist shop in neighboring Saugatuck, where Andrew also worked part-time. The two had quickly become a romantic couple, even though Oscar was seven years older. I had hoped the age difference might help Andrew move out of his extended adolescence. So far there was no sign of it. For his twenty-fifth birthday last month, Andrew celebrated with a laser tag party. Followed by an hour at the arcade.
“I’m surprised you’re letting Oscar appear as the title character while you take second billing.”
He made a face. “Please. We had the original Broadway costumes replicated. Thomas Jefferson has a much better wardrobe. My costume is velvet. With cuffs! Oscar’s Colonial uniform can’t compete with that.”
“Dare I ask what costume your brother is wearing?” Dean Cabot also worked at my shop and was even more fashion conscious than Andrew.
Andrew’s reply was cut short when someone called the store phone, which spurred Minnie to leave off barking and imitate the ringtone. As Minnie grew louder, I struggled to hear what the caller said. I heard enough to know it was good news.
“You look happy,” Andrew remarked after I hung up.
“That was Chris Farnsworth, the vendor I ordered all those dried mulberries from. He and his wife are coming to the health fair. His wife is a big fan of the Sable products. She insisted they drive up to Oriole Point so she could meet them. This means he can deliver the mulberries to me in person.” I glanced up at the red wall clock shaped like a strawberry. “He’s only an hour away. Says he’ll drop the berries off here before they check into a B&B.”
“Good news for the Lake Lady. You can deliver her mulberries earlier than planned.”
“I’ll drive them over as soon as I load the berries in my SUV. You should be fine handling everything here on your own.”
He scanned the empty store, “Ya think?”
Indeed, I could count today’s customers on one hand. In fact, there was no need for both of us to be at the store. But I felt a responsibility to offer my staff hours even when business turned slow. And I had spent so much time at my house during all the repairs, I welcomed the chance to putter about my shop. However, I had already cleaned every surface, filed invoices, sliced the cranberry coffee cakes left by my baker Theo, then rearranged every last tea tin, jelly jar, oven mitt, and wine bottle in the shop.
I even trimmed Minnie’s nails. I might have turned my attention to her wings next, but the vet clipped them last week. Too bad I had already decorated the shop for Halloween. I would have welcomed the distraction of putting out more jack-o’-lanterns, cobwebs, stuffed scarecrows, and bats. But I had overdone the Halloween décor. The store was festooned with so many decorations, customers might think they had entered a haunted house, not a berry emporium.
“I didn’t expect a lot of business during the health fair. Not with all those celebrities Piper booked.” As I straightened the chairs at the bistro tables near the ice cream counter, my glance fell on the ice cream, especially chocolate caramel raspberry, my current favorite. I’d eaten lunch two hours ago. Enough time had passed to justify a small scoop.
Andrew looked up from his iPad. “If you’re getting ice cream for yourself, I wouldn’t mind a boysenberry swirl cone.”
I began to sc
oop ice cream while Minnie sang out, “Ba-ba-ba ba-ba ba-ran.” No matter how many Beyoncé songs Andrew taught her, Minnie’s heart belonged to the Beach Boys.
“If I keep eating this ice cream, I may need the Sable Diet. Gillian’s uncle lost eighty pounds. And Tess’s sister-in-law lost fifteen pounds in one month. It must work.”
“Of course it works. You fast all week, then binge on the weekend. And no dairy. Not even yogurt. Thanks.” He took his ice cream cone with an eager smile. “I tried it once when I wanted to lose five pounds. I quit after two days. And you know me. I love a good fad diet.”
“Doesn’t sound like a healthy diet. I wonder why it’s so popular.”
“Because most people are desperate and lazy,” he said. “That diet’s certainly made the Sables rich. The younger son Keith is in charge of all the diet supplements. Saw him on a home-shopping network last month plugging their frozen diet meals and protein bars. I’ve eaten a few. Too bland. The only product with any real flavor is their espresso chocolate protein bar.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever tried anything by the Sable company.”
“The skin-care products are first-rate. I use a ton of it to stay this flawless.” He patted his smooth cheek. “Their foaming watercress facial cleanser is the best. Gluten-free, too.”
“Why would there be gluten in facial cleanser? And why is your brother taking such a long time at the police station? How much could your mother have to say about the Lake Lady?”
Because I’d worked alone at the store this past weekend, I didn’t have the chance to talk to Andrew or Dean until today. Curious about Leticia, I hoped the gossip-loving Cabot boys might know something I didn’t. But they were as clueless as me when it came to Leticia’s background. However, Andrew and Dean’s mom, Suzanne Cabot, worked as the police department’s receptionist. That was her official title. Unofficially, she was known as Oriole Point’s treasure trove of gossip. Which was why I sent Dean over there an hour ago to pump her for information about Leticia.
Mulberry Mischief Page 3