“Bloody hell,” Drake spluttered. “That bell is louder than Big Ben. It can’t be legal.”
“Over a hundred complaints have been lodged. But since Piper and Lionel run Oriole Point . . .”
“Those two are despots.” He shot an angry look at the bell tower. “And why did she add a balcony to the cupola?”
I knew he wouldn’t like my answer. “Piper plans to install a track along there. She wants mechanical figures in historical dress to appear every hour and pretend to strike the bell.”
“Insufferable woman. She won’t be happy until she turns this charming village into Disneyland. Only she’ll change the name to Lyall Land.”
“Don’t worry about it. Old Man Bowman says the bell is upsetting the wildlife in the area, including the fish and Bigfoot. He swears he plans to get rid of it. I’m sure we’ll wake up one morning and find the bell missing.”
“If only Piper would go missing, too. I’d view it as a lovely treat for Halloween.”
Dead leaves swirled around our feet as the wind picked up. I suddenly felt cold. “I wish Halloween was already behind us. If Leticia was interested in what spirits did on that night, I’m afraid she might have a weird plan in place.”
A look of concern crossed his face. “Do you think someone could be hurt?”
I nodded. “Her, for one. And any of the Sables.”
“Do you mean that family now presiding over Piper’s fair like a gang of corrupt Habsburgs?”
“I take it you don’t care for the Sables or their products,” I said.
“Of course I don’t. A commercial dynasty built on a ludicrous diet that reduces fat and nutrition. Not to mention all those so-called natural supplements. Any decent herbalist could whip up better concoctions in their sleep. And don’t get me started on the Sable cosmetic line. My clients number among the most reputable beauty experts in the world. All of them will attest that the Sable makeup is little better than paint and chalk. In fact, the results might look more appealing if the products were comprised of paint and chalk.”
“How can they be so successful if what they are selling is so low quality?”
Drake gave me a patronizing look. “The advertising world is nothing but smoke and mirrors, my dear. If you tell people something is marvelous enough times, they believe it. And the Sables possess the money to flog their products constantly. The only thing I can find to like about the Sables is that one of them competed in the Olympics as I did. I have a soft spot for fellow Olympians.”
He had startled me once more. “One of the Sables competed in the Olympics? Which one?” I assumed it had to be either Patrick or Keith; both looked fit and athletic.
“Ingrid, the matriarch. This was in the 1970s. I believe she was in her early thirties then.”
“What was her event?”
“One of my favorites. Archery.”
Chapter Seventeen
If I thought I was cold before, Drake’s announcement about Ingrid Sable chilled me to the bone. I had no idea she was once expert enough in archery to compete in the Olympics. Despite her age, had she retained her skill? I didn’t see why she wouldn’t.
I cut my conversation short with Drake and headed for Coffee by Crystal, Oriole Point’s favorite coffee hangout. I’d chased after Drake without bringing my jacket. Instead of returning to the warmth of my shop, I decided hot caffeine was even better. I literally ran into Coffee by Crystal, thrilled to see there was no line. The health fair was cutting into everyone’s business.
“A large pumpkin spice latte,” I told the barista, who was a fellow member of Lakeshore Birders. We chatted about the latest field trip while he prepared my drink.
Just being there relaxed me. Maybe it was the welcoming warmth, combined with the delectable aroma of coffee and pastry. I wondered if I should have something to eat and glanced up at the menu board. Although Coffee by Crystal concentrated on coffee drinks, it also offered sandwich wraps, hard-boiled eggs, a daily soup, egg bakes, and hummus. I decided coffee was what I craved, even if I did have a soft spot for their Greek egg bake.
Outside, the wind picked up and the leaves left on the trees trembled. I was glad I’d come to the coffeehouse, where it was warm, and there were people, and of course coffee.
The wood-frame building had previously been a millinery shop in the nineteenth century, and it retained a quaint historic charm. Antique photos of Oriole Point hung on the sections of the walls not reserved for bags of coffee beans and Coffee by Crystal mugs. Divided into four rooms, each was filled with mismatched tables and chairs collected over the years from antique stores and estate sales. In nice weather, many customers sat on the café’s front porch or in the back garden, but the lake breezes held a bite today.
After my barista handed me the latte, I made for the back room, where it was coziest. It was also the only one that didn’t have at least one customer currently hunched over their laptop or a book. I settled onto the cushioned bench before one of the three tables in what I called the nook. The window behind me looked out over the bricked garden now ablaze with orange, yellow, white, and maroon chrysanthemums.
I sipped my latte. The flavorful hot coffee sent a wave of warmth through me. I hoped the caffeine would help me sort out the tangled mess I’d been drawn into. And a mess it certainly was if an accomplished woman in her seventies now figured as a prime suspect in a murder. But the idea that famed dermatologist Dr. Ingrid Sable had tracked Bonaventure and shot him with an arrow seemed ludicrous. Yet an arrow had killed him, shot by someone with expert aim.
I didn’t know a lot of people skilled in archery. Maybe only Old Man Bowman, who had spent half his life hunting Bigfoot. However, Felix Bonaventure had looked nothing like a hairy missing link, so I crossed Old Man Bowman off the list.
Nearby footsteps made the wooden floor creak. I looked up to see Patrick Sable and a young man. They were talking to each other and didn’t see me until both reached the back room. Patrick saw me first, his expression hardening.
“I didn’t know you were here.” His tone implied that he wished I wasn’t.
His companion had the opposite reaction. “Ms. Jacob! We were at your talk this morning. I thought it was great, especially all the stuff about how many varieties there are of each fruit. I never knew there were over two hundred varieties of raspberries.” He pointed at the two chairs at my table. “Do you mind?”
“Please do.” I gave him a welcoming smile.
He plopped in the chair across from me, carefully setting down his own coffee drink and a plate holding a banana nut muffin. Patrick hesitated before taking the seat next to him. He held a white mug with a teabag floating in it.
“I’m glad you enjoyed my talk,” I added. “And if you were impressed about raspberries, you should know strawberries are available in over a hundred thousand varieties.”
His smile widened. “I was the one who proposed to the family that we create a product line with berry extracts. Your talk confirmed my idea was right. Think of the possibilities.”
I looked at Patrick. “Is this your son?”
But it was the younger Sable who answered me. “Yeah, sorry. I should have introduced myself. I’m Joshua Sable. It’s my first day in Oriole Point. I had a business meeting in New York yesterday, but flew into Grand Rapids last night.” He unwrapped the paper holder on the muffin. “I needed to check out the health fair before my own talk tomorrow. I’m giving a workshop with my mom on anti-aging supplements.”
Patrick cleared his throat. “My son has a Ph.D. in chemistry. He’s been working in our labs on anti-aging formulas.”
“I planned to be a geochemist. I’ve been a rock and mineral hound since I was a kid. But both sides of my family have a real need for chemists. It took me awhile to decide whether to join my mom’s relatives at Fontaine Pharmaceuticals, or throw my hand in with the Sables. In the end, the Sable products seemed more diverse and interesting.” He took a big bite of muffin.
“You must be pleased,” I
said to Patrick.
“Of course I am. Josh is a gifted chemist with innovative ideas. He has already proved an asset to the company.” Patrick regarded his son with the first warmth I had seen him display.
“Some of my ideas are a little too innovative for Mom and Dad. Luckily, Grandpa loves them. And if Grandpa approves . . .” He returned his attention to the muffin. I didn’t blame him. The baker at Coffee by Crystal was almost as talented as Theo.
“My father is quite fond of Josh.” Patrick removed the teabag from his mug. “He’s never been able to deny him anything.”
Joshua chuckled. “He means I’m spoiled rotten. And I am. But I’m also hardworking, trustworthy, and adorable.”
“If you say so yourself,” I said with a laugh.
There was an engaging quality about Joshua. He didn’t have the practiced charm of his uncle Keith, or the forced bonhomie of his mother. As for his dad, I found Patrick Sable an enigmatic figure. A man with a calm reserve, but one who seemed to struggle to maintain it. Not having met Drs. Cameron and Ingrid Sable, I couldn’t vouch for their friendliness. But I had a feeling Joshua might be the only appealing member of the family.
And he had to be close to my age. Since he was an infant when his nanny was killed, that made him twenty-eight now. He vaguely resembled his father and had inherited the aquiline profile of the Sable males. Darker hair than his father, of course, since gray peppered Patrick’s hair. Definitely a Sable, though. I saw little trace of his mother in his dark good looks.
He was also more attractive than the other male members of his family, even his uncle Keith. Joshua had beautiful eyes, with thick long lashes I envied. He was almost pretty, like one of those erotic young men painted by Caravaggio. The Sables were lucky he had decided to join the company, especially the skin care and anti-aging division. His handsome looks and natural charm made him the ideal spokesman for the Sable promise of eternal youth and beauty.
“I was impressed with the lineup at the health fair today.” Joshua swiped at his mouth with a napkin. “A couple of Detroit Tigers, Ellie Vaughn, about a dozen reality-show stars, the host of Hard Bodies, and three Olympic gold medalists from the American gymnastics team. That Piper woman knows how to pull off a conference.”
I sat up at the mention of the gymnasts. “Speaking of Olympians, I had no idea your grandmother once competed in the Olympics.”
Patrick set his mug down on the table with so much force, tea splashed onto the table. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. Her bio always includes it.”
“I guess I concentrated on her work with the Sable company.” I didn’t add that I had never given much thought to any of the Sables until they arrived this week.
“Mormor’s the best,” Joshua said. “She’s done so many fantastic things in her life, it’s easy to forget some of them.”
“Mormor?” I asked.
“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish smile. “Mormor is what I’ve always called her. It’s Swedish for Grandma. Mormor’s family live in Mariefred, which is about thirty miles from Stockholm. She grew up with a lot of siblings, and everyone was super athletic. You should see her on the slopes at Telluride. She even snowboards! I mean, c’mon. How many grandmothers in their late seventies do that?”
“My mother is an extraordinary woman,” Patrick said. “But she prefers to be known for the advances in skin care she has launched.”
“Being an Olympian is nothing to sniff at,” I said. “Especially in an event as unusual as archery.”
“And she did it at the age of thirty-two. Mormor is like Iron Woman.” Joshua finished off his muffin. “My mom is an archer. Mormor is her role model. Anything Mormor does, Mom wants to do, too.” His expression turned impish. “I think Mom believes she can qualify for the Olympics one day. She spends a lot of time at the Gold Coast Archers Club in Palm Beach.”
“He exaggerates,” Patrick said. “My wife also loves to golf and ski.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Joshua leaned forward. “Mom always talks about Thomas Scott. He competed as an archer in the Olympics when he was seventy-one, the oldest person to ever compete in an Olympic archery event. He’s Mom’s other role model.”
“I wish I was good enough to qualify for the Olympics,” I said. “In anything.”
Patrick looked bored. “I don’t see the Sables competing in the Olympics in the foreseeable future. Least of all, my wife. And don’t be impressed by her interest in archery. Everyone in the family knows how to hit an archery target. When you grow up with a mother who competed in the Olympics, there’s no escaping being handed a bow and arrow.”
“Are all the Sables good archers?” I asked.
“Good enough,” Patrick said curtly.
“Not me.” Joshua set down his coffee. “But Dad, Grandpa, and Uncle Keith go bow-hunting for deer every fall in Georgia.” A ringtone sounded. Josh pulled his iPhone from the front pocket of his shirt. He peeked at the screen. “Sorry, I have to take this.”
He got up and walked into the other room.
Patrick and I stared at each other. “I know what you’re doing,” he finally said.
“Really? Because I don’t.”
“You’re trying to implicate us in a crime. My family has been informed a man was killed with a bow and arrow on Ellen Nagy’s property. The woman you call Leticia the Lake Lady.”
“I am well aware of the crime. As I am aware the victim was killed with a bow and arrow. Shot through the heart. The murderer was therefore skilled in archery.”
“Olympic-level archery, perhaps?” he asked. “Isn’t that what you’re hinting at?”
“I’m not hinting at anything. And I only just learned your mother was an Olympic archer.” I took a moment to sip my latte, giving Patrick more time to seethe. It might make him careless enough to say something incriminating. “Now I discover the entire Sable clan is conversant with bows and arrows. I don’t have to be a police detective to be curious about the timing of your visit to Oriole Point. And the murder of a man by such a method.”
He pushed his mug of tea away, causing much of it to splash onto the table. His controlled exterior had begun to fray. “If I needed further proof you are working with that madwoman, you’ve just given it to me.”
“I’ve spent less than thirty minutes in her company, so stop saying that.”
“I will as soon as you stop defending her. How many times do you need to be reminded that Ellen Nagy murdered an innocent young woman? She spent fifteen years in prison. And according to many residents in your town, she has behaved like an unbalanced mental patient for the past four years.”
“I’d describe her behavior as eccentric.”
He balled up his napkin and swiped at the tea he had spilled. “I don’t give a damn what you think about Ellen. You know nothing about her or my family. Or how much my poor brother has suffered all these years.”
“He’s rich, attractive, successful, and about to marry a Victoria’s Secret model. He doesn’t seem to be suffering all that much.”
“You’re an insolent woman,” he said with far too much hatred.
“You make me sound like a character from a Victorian novel. Jane Eyre, maybe.”
“Oh, I think of you as a character all right. One desperate to involve herself in things that are none of her business. Maybe that’s how people behave in small towns, but elsewhere it’s regarded as rude. Even hazardous.”
“Is that a threat?”
He pounded his fist on the table, making me jump. “If I was threatening you, you’d know it. Which is why I advise you to stop looking for ways to link Mr. Bonaventure’s murder with my family. He was killed on Ellen’s property. According to police, he may have collaborated on a book with her. Those are the links that matter. Links that prove Ellen killed him.”
“She’s also linked to your family,” I said. “And the murder of your nanny.”
“I’m sick of hearing about that damned nanny!” He looked down, as though trying to rega
in his composure. “Look, my family had nothing to do with her death or the ghostwriter’s.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about. But once the police know that all the Sables can hit a target with a bow and arrow, you and your family members will be under suspicion.”
He gave a hollow laugh. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to inform them.”
“I’d advise your family to do that before I can. For the optics, if nothing else.”
He pushed back from the table, the chair legs making a scratching sound. “And I’d advise you to think carefully. The Sables are not residents of some sorry hick town in Michigan. If a Sable is attacked or threatened, we know how to protect ourselves.”
“Insulting Oriole Point won’t help your cause,” I said, “especially with local law enforcement. By the way, we’re known as the Cape Cod of the Midwest.”
“If you smear my family, we’ll make certain Oriole Point is known for something far worse.” His tone left me in no doubt that he was serious.
I recalled the fear on Leticia’s face when she spoke of the Sables. What must it have felt like to be a frightened teenager faced with the power and influence of this family? A teenager whose own family quickly disowned her. Was pressure brought to bear on her to confess? I could certainly see how.
“Threaten me if you like,” I said. “But I will get testy if you threaten Oriole Point.”
“I know something about you as well, Ms. Jacob.” His voice grew soft, which seemed more unsettling. “I think you like publicity. Any kind of publicity. That’s why you’ve inserted yourself in several recent crimes in this ridiculous town. I also know you were involved with a murder back in New York when you produced cooking shows.”
I took another sip of my latte. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I was not the one who put arsenic in John Chaplin’s cake. That was his wife. Or maybe you missed the trial.”
“I don’t miss anything. That’s how I know why you’re coming after my family. It’s a way to get further attention, like some twisted serial killer who loves to read about his sordid crimes.”
Mulberry Mischief Page 18