Mulberry Mischief

by Sharon Farrow

  “No cats,” Greg said. “That means she must have come back.”

  “Or someone else did. I am surprised Leticia lived in such a new custom-built home.” I waved in the direction of the kitchen. “One with quartz countertops and high-end cabinets.”

  “This house was built by a young couple from Detroit,” Hitchcock said. “They moved here six years ago with plans to start a goat farm. Didn’t take long for them to figure out the bucolic life wasn’t for them. They sold it to Ellen, furniture and fancy kitchen included.”

  “If you touched anything in here yesterday, let us know,” Kit instructed. “We’re dusting for prints.” I noticed only now that he wore plastic gloves.

  “I didn’t touch anything except the doorknob of the front door.” I froze when I looked over at the desk. “Hold on. Did someone move the laptop?”

  “What do you mean?” Kit asked.

  “An Apple laptop sat right here.” I pointed at the desk. “Something else is missing, too.”

  Greg appeared by my side. “Those papers you talked about?”

  “Not just papers. It looked like a manuscript. Several hundred typed pages. One of them was a title page. Mischief and Murder by Ellen Mulberry.”

  Greg turned to Chief Hitchcock. “You’ve been looking into her case for some time, Gene. Was there anything in her file to indicate she was a writer? Jailhouse memoirs, maybe.”

  The police chief shook his head.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why were you looking into her case?” I asked him.

  “Professional curiosity,” Hitchcock said. “I investigate any odd behavior in town to make certain it isn’t likely to turn dangerous. I have a file on Old Man Bowman, too. Along with about a dozen others. As soon as I heard people talking about Leticia the Lake Lady, I paid attention. She appeared a little strange. Acted strange, too. Standing on the beach to look out at the water. She never did anything illegal or suspicious, only I couldn’t figure out how she afforded this property and house. That’s what made me dig into her past.”

  “And discovered she’d been in prison for murder,” Kit said.

  “Yes. According to the reports, she lost her husband a few months before she came here. Anthony Clark was much older than Ellen and retired shortly after she was released. They spent all the years of their marriage in his hometown of Huntsville, Alabama.” He picked up a small framed photo on the coffee table. “I recognize this man from my file. He’s Anthony Clark, her deceased husband. He worked in the Michigan state prison system for thirty years.”

  “How did he die?” I hoped it wasn’t under suspicious circumstances.

  “Complications from Parkinson’s disease.”

  “Not murder then,” I said with relief.

  “She might have bought this property with his insurance policy,” Kit suggested.

  “Seems likely,” Hitchcock said. “He also had a good pension.”

  “Why didn’t she stay in Alabama?” I asked him.

  “Clark’s family wasn’t happy he’d married an ex-con. I spoke to some people down there. They said his relatives made her feel unwelcome from the beginning. And once Anthony Clark died, they put pressure on her to leave.”

  I felt even sorrier for Leticia. Losing a husband, then being run out of town. No wonder she behaved strangely. “How did she end up here?”

  “Ellen is from Michigan, but doesn’t have a lot of family,” he said. “A few relatives still live in Coldwater. When I looked into her case, I contacted her father. Ellen wanted to move back home after her husband died, but her family disowned her after the murder. Except for one cousin, most of them wanted nothing to do with her. She was dead to them.” He frowned. “They told her the same thing when she reappeared. Made sure she knew she wasn’t welcome.”

  I shivered. “Her family seems as cold as the name of the town. So do the Clarks.”

  “Soon after, she showed up in Oriole Point. And never left.”

  “Until now,” I pointed out.

  “We don’t know she left town,” Greg said.

  “We do know someone came to the house in the past twenty-four hours and didn’t bother to take an envelope with a note claiming there’s money in it.” I felt frustrated and uneasy. “But they did steal her laptop computer and the manuscript.”

  “Or Leticia took it herself,” Kit said. “It’s possible she’s hiding right now. The manuscript and the files on the computer could be important to her. Did you look at any of the pages aside from the title page?”

  “No.” A pity the Cabot boys hadn’t been with me. They would have skimmed through the entire manuscript. And probably photographed a few pages with their phones.

  “It’s also possible she hid the manuscript and computer somewhere in the house. Officer Huypers is searching the bedrooms. I’ll tell him to look for a laptop and papers. ” Greg disappeared down the hallway.

  “Look around some more, Marlee,” Chief Hitchcock said. “You might discover something else that’s gone missing.”

  I doubted I would. I’d been here such a short time and only noticed the manuscript because of the cats.

  Kit walked over to the crammed bookshelves. “Does anything here look out of place?”

  I scanned the shelves. “I couldn’t say. The only thing that stood out was how eclectic her reading tastes were.”

  “Take a look anyway. I don’t want to miss anything.”

  To oblige him, I started at the top shelf and read every title until I reached the bottom. Next I turned my attention to the bookshelf on the other side of the fireplace. I soon realized the books on this shelf were not as varied as the others. In fact, they were all accounts of true crime.

  Although not a big true-crime fan, I recognized a few famous titles: Helter Skelter, The Stranger Beside Me, In Cold Blood. My breathing quickened.

  “Is it all right if I touch these books?” I asked Kit, who was talking to Chief Hitchcock.

  He handed me a pair of plastic gloves. “Put these on first.”

  After I donned the gloves, I pulled out two books that caught my eye. Then several more on the shelf below. A quick glance at the covers told me that I’d been right to notice them.

  “I know what Felix Bonaventure did for a living,” I announced. “He was a writer of true crime. He co-authored these.” I held up the books.

  “I’ll be damned,” Kit said. “He can’t be a well-known one. I don’t recognize his name.”

  “You wouldn’t. I’d bet his name never appears on some of his books. When it does, it shows up in small print. Like it does on these.” I handed the books to Kit. “He was a ghostwriter.”

  Gene Hitchcock and Kit examined the covers of the books. Below the author’s name appeared the words “with Felix Bonaventure” in much smaller print. They turned the books around and looked at the spines.

  “How did you know he’d written these books?” Hitchcock asked. “His name doesn’t appear on the spine.”

  “True. But someone—most likely Leticia—marked the tops of the pages with a yellow highlighter. It caught my eye. Only a few are highlighted, but all of them were written by Bonaventure.”

  I pulled out another book marked with yellow highlighter. This true-crime book did not include any reference to Felix, but I suspected he had ghostwritten it. Otherwise, why had she marked it like the others?

  “Did she ask Bonaventure to help her write the book?” Kit asked.

  “I think she did,” I said. “I also think this proves she didn’t kill him.”

  “How so?” Hitchcock seemed skeptical.

  “She was afraid that she and the ‘ghost’ were in danger. Don’t you see? She was referring to her ghostwriter. Now Leticia has disappeared. And the ‘ghost’ is dead.”

  “It’s time to take the Lake Lady seriously,” Kit said. “And listen to what she has to say.”

  “We have to find her first.” I felt a wave of foreboding. “I only hope she’s still alive.”

  Chapter Seven<
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  All the way back to Oriole Point, I kept one eye out for a purple scooter on the highway. Maybe Leticia simply hadn’t returned home yet. None of us knew the particulars of her daily routine. Perhaps she rose early and did errands. She may even have driven to another beach. Why did I assume she only came to Oriole Beach to do all that mournful gazing? It was possible she had a whole secret life going on we hadn’t guessed at.

  “I almost got one of the wild turkeys to come up to me,” Theo said. “If they lived near my cottage, I bet I could convince them to eat from my hand, like I do the chickadees.”

  Theo sat beside me, going through the photos of wild turkeys he’d taken on his phone. Although he had been startled by the sight of Bonaventure’s body, Theo now acted as if we had done nothing today but go birding. After his encounters with the turkey vultures and the wild turkeys, I suspected Theo had gained a new obsession. And relegated the dead body to some dim memory. Unless he found the experience so upsetting, he chose to pretend it never happened.

  Luckily, I was now better informed about his background. In July, Theo and I took a road trip to visit my parents in Chicago and his father in Champaign, Illinois. We both were in desperate need of home cooking and parental love after the harrowing Blackberry Art School centenary. Meeting his relatives reassured me that he came from a loving family who had done all they could to help him enjoy an independent and productive life.

  And since moving to Oriole Point last December, Theo had been quite productive, helping my business grow by baking the most delicious berry pastries I had ever eaten.

  But he did view the world in an idiosyncratic—sometimes baffling—way. I didn’t want anything to frighten him into retreating from the world once more.

  “Sorry you had to see that body at the Lake Lady’s house. It must have been upsetting.”

  He looked up from his phone. “I bet that arrow killed some sleeping bees, too.”

  “Do you want to talk about it, Theo? The dead man, not the bees.”

  “What do you want to say? I never met him. You did, though. Are you upset?”

  “Well, it isn’t a personal loss. He was little more than a stranger. But finding his dead body in the field was upsetting, of course.”

  “Whoever killed him missed the first time.” Theo held up his phone.

  I took my eyes off the road long enough to see that he had photographed the arrow embedded in the beehive. “You’re right. The killer’s first shot probably struck the hive. It was the second arrow that killed Felix.”

  “Do you think the Lake Lady shot him?” he asked.

  “No,” I said in a firm voice, more to convince myself. “She told me the ghost was in as much danger as she was. And we think Felix Bonaventure may have been her ghostwriter. That’s someone who secretly helps a person write a book.”

  “Maybe she didn’t like what he wrote and got angry at him.”

  “I don’t think she’d kill him about something like that. Besides, she feared for the ghost’s life, too. Someone else is responsible. A person connected to what she called the shadow people. And the book is part of it. Otherwise, where are the computer and manuscript?”

  Theo switched off his phone. “Did you pick your costume for the Halloween parade?”

  The non sequitur reaffirmed my suspicion that Theo had moved on. I wish I could do the same. At least his question about the upcoming parade gave me the opportunity to talk about something fun.

  “I picked my costume weeks ago. I’m dressing up as Daenerys from Game of Thrones. I ordered this fantastic silver gown with nice long sleeves so I won’t freeze like I did last Halloween. And I bought a white wig and a stuffed dragon I can attach to my shoulder. With two other dragons for my skirt. Only don’t tell Dean and Andrew. I want to surprise them.”

  “I understand. They’ll tell everyone. Costumes should be a surprise. That’s why I’m keeping my costume a secret.”

  I almost veered off the road at hearing this. “You’re going to be in the parade?”

  “Of course. I like Halloween. And I didn’t live here last Halloween, so I missed the parade. Andrew and Dean told me it’s the best thing to happen in Oriole Point all year.”

  Theo spent most of his time at The Berry Basket or alone at Crow Cottage. Too many people tended to make him nervous. And thousands of people came to town for the parade. I worried he might not understand what he was getting himself into.

  “It is a lot of fun. But there will be huge crowds downtown that night.”

  “Gillian described it to me. She’ll be in the parade, too.” He gave me a reassuring look. “I’ll be all right, Marlee. I was around all those crowds for the Blueberry Blow Out. I’ll be fine.”

  I felt tears well up. Only a few months ago, Theo had been uneasy when surrounded by strangers. When I first hired him, we saw him so rarely that Andrew dubbed him “The Phantom.” Theo would arrive at the shop kitchen before dawn and leave before we arrived. It took the tumultuous events of the art school centenary to encourage him to trust his fellow workers at The Berry Basket. And now he was getting ready to march in the biggest event held in Oriole Point.

  It was like watching a child take their first steps.

  “We should all march together,” I said. “Kit’s going to be in the parade. He chose a Game of Thrones costume, too. Jon Snow. He’ll be all in black.”

  “Like Darth Vader.” Theo was a big Star Wars fan.

  I laughed. “Except a lot more handsome.”

  “Gillian’s coming as the Little Mermaid.” He lowered his voice as though someone might overhear. “She showed me her red wig. It’s as long as the Lake Lady’s hair. But prettier.”

  “I wasn’t sure you had ever seen the Lake Lady. She doesn’t come into town much. When she does, she stays on the beach.”

  He nodded. “That’s where I’ve seen her. She rides the purple scooter there. My dad says scooters are like motorcycles. They’re dangerous. She shouldn’t drive one.”

  “I didn’t know you were a beachgoer. You always talk about how much you like to watch the river instead.”

  “Sometimes I finish baking early and walk to the lighthouse. There aren’t many people around then. I stay on the pier and watch the gulls on the beach. They sleep in flocks.”

  “And you’ve seen the Lake Lady on the beach?”

  “Yes. She stands there a long time. The gulls walk around like she’s not there.”

  “Why do you think she likes to look out at the lake so much?”

  Theo turned his attention out the car window as we passed a goat farm. “She’s probably afraid of it.”

  Leticia had said something similar when I asked her. That she was afraid she would forget. But what did that mean?

  “I think she’s afraid of Piper, too,” he added.

  I almost veered off the road again. “Why would she be afraid of Piper?”

  “Because Piper yelled at her.”

  “When?” I debated pulling over to have this conversation, but I had already been away from the shop for hours. And I’d promised to get back in time to let Dean interview the Pilates Queen for his blog.

  “Last month. I remember because that was the morning I tried the recipe for those triple berry doughnuts. The ones you asked me to bake for the OPBA people.”

  As a shop owner, I not only belonged to the Oriole Point Business Association, I also served on the board as membership secretary. Our monthly meetings drew every business owner in town, each with a litany of complaints. These complaints often turned into arguments, sometimes heated ones. In July, we decided to take turns bringing in treats. The sugary desserts hadn’t stopped the quarreling, but it kept some of our more vocal members from ranting nonstop. And I remembered how everyone had gorged themselves on Theo’s doughnuts.

  “So you saw Piper and Leticia last month on the morning of the OPBA meeting.”

  Theo shrugged. “I don’t remember the date. Just the doughnuts.”

  “If you were on the
pier by the lighthouse and Leticia was on the beach, how do you know it was Piper who was with her? Especially if it wasn’t fully light yet.”

  “It was light enough to see. And I was walking back along the pier when Piper got there. I paid attention when her car came into the parking lot. That’s because the only other thing in the lot was the purple scooter.”

  “Did they meet in the parking lot?”

  “Piper went down to the beach. She had her big dog with her. The one called Charlie.”

  Piper and Lionel had adopted a lovable Great Dane this past summer and christened him Charlemagne. I found the dog much too playful for such a weighty moniker and gave him a nickname. This displeased Piper since everyone else now called him Charlie, too. If Theo had seen Charlie, there could be no doubt it was Piper on the beach that day.

  “Piper and her dog went to meet the Lake Lady,” he continued. “They talked for about ten minutes at the edge of the water.”

  “If you were on the pier the whole time, didn’t they see you?”

  “I sat under the catwalk to watch them. I don’t think they saw me.”

  I would have bet my life that Piper had never spoken a word to Leticia. The two women moved in circles stratospherically apart. In fact, I couldn’t think of two people in Oriole Point more dissimilar. “I can’t believe Piper met with Leticia,” I muttered.

  Theo began to fiddle with the zipper on his jacket. As with the discovery of Bonaventure’s body, Theo had grown bored with this topic as well. “It was Piper for sure. The bossy blond lady who’s married to the mayor. He was there, too. The mayor got out of the car and watched them from the parking lot while they talked.”

  “Are you sure Lionel was there? Piper’s husband?”

  “It was the mayor. He’s the tall black man with the really deep voice. When he talks, it sounds like thunder.”

  I tried to absorb this information as Theo added, “I think he was there to make sure his wife was okay. Piper and the Lake Lady looked like they were arguing. Piper shook her finger at the Lake Lady a couple of times.”