The Final Vow

by Amanda Flower

  I sat on one of the chairs and nearly disappeared. I wriggled my way out of the deep cushion and perched on the edge of the seat. Sometimes being so small really was a bother. Henry made no comment on my struggle with the chair.

  He glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. “You’re twenty minutes late.”

  I folded my hands on my lap. “I had a sheep situation at the Farm.”

  “I see,” he said coldly. “I sent my secretary out on an errand because I wanted us to have some privacy.” He stood up and crossed the room, closing the heavy door with a resounding thud like the lid on a coffin. “I’d best close this so that we aren’t interrupted if she should return earlier than planned.” He walked back around the side of the desk and resumed his seat. “You must think I called this meeting because of the Pumpernickle wedding,” he began.

  I shook my head. “I assumed it was because Vianna Pine was Cynthia’s rightful heir and now she’s dead.”

  “Ahh, I should have expected you would find this out. Despite our differences, Ms. Cambridge, I have always appreciated the fact that you’re a problem solver and able to get right down to business. I imagine you were the one who resolved the sheep situation on the Farm with little fanfare.”

  I didn’t bother to reply to this comment. “I assume you knew of Vianna’s relationship to Maxwell before the rest of the world did.”

  “Yes, of course.” He leaned back in his chair for a moment before sitting up straight again.

  “For how long?” I asked

  He moved his stack of papers aside and set his elbows on the desktop. He pressed the tips of his fingers together in a steeple shape. It was a pose that I’d seen him do many times before. I wondered if he’d learned it in law school, as a posture that exuded authority, or maybe it was something he’d just picked up on television. The irony of the posture wasn’t lost on me, considering how Vianna died.

  “She came to me at the end of April with a letter from her dead mother. It said that Maxwell Cherry was her father and that she, Vianna, had claim to the Cherry family’s fortune. Vianna’s mother advised her daughter to contact the Foundation and claim her birthright.”

  “When did her mother die?” I asked.

  “The end of last year.”

  That was around the same time that Cynthia died, I thought. “And she didn’t approach the Foundation until April?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t until recently that she began to go through her mother’s things, or so she said. That’s when she found the letter.” Henry pressed his lips together, as if just speaking of the letter put a bad taste in his mouth.

  “Why didn’t her mother tell her this when Maxwell died?” I asked. “He died over a year ago. She could have had her daughter claim her inheritance then, and she would have gotten to know Cynthia before she died.”

  Henry shrugged. “We may never know.”

  “So Vianna showed up with this letter, and that was it? You accepted her as the rightful heir?” I asked, even though I knew this wasn’t true. According to Brandon, Vianna took a paternity test.

  He flattened his hands on the desktop. “It was more than just the letter. She also had deposit records for her mother’s bank account from Maxwell. The deposits varied in sum and were made sporadically, but the majority of them were from when Vianna was child. Her mother kept a file over the years. Apparently, it was in this file that Vianna also found the letter explaining who her father was.”

  “That was enough evidence for you.” I concentrated on not falling back into the huge chair.

  He smiled, as if he knew I didn’t believe it could be. In this case, he would be right. “No. The Cherry Foundation is worth twenty million dollars, give or take a million on either side. Vianna wasn’t the first, nor, I assume, will she be the last to come to us claiming to be Maxwell’s heir. Maxwell had many liaisons in his life. He was no saint. More than one person with a fatherless sob story has claimed to be his biological child.” He steepled his hands again. “I will admit that Vianna came with more proof than the others, but the Foundation still had to do its due diligence and have irrefutable proof that she was an heir.”

  “A DNA test, you mean,” I said, inching forward in the chair again. The chair was like a great whale trying to swallow me whole. I sort of knew what Jonah had felt like now.

  “Precisely.” He smiled at me like I’d passed some sort of test.

  “And?” I said, hoping to keep him talking.

  “Since we always knew this was a possibility—someone crawling out of the woodwork and claiming to be an heir to Cynthia’s fortune—we had both Cynthia’s and Maxwell’s DNA saved in a private lab. When Vianna made her claim, she and I went to that lab for the test. We just received the results on Monday.”

  The day before Vianna died.

  “And …”

  He frowned. “It was a match. Ninety-nine percent certainty. Vianna’s mother told the truth. Vianna was in fact Maxwell’s daughter.”

  “She learned that she was an heiress and a day later, died,” I said.

  Henry nodded. “I can see what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. Her death isn’t related to this in the least. She and I both knew, but I hadn’t yet told even the other members of the board. Not enough people knew to make it a motive to kill her.” He leaned back in his chair. “I believe that the police have it wrong and the young woman’s death was just an accident. She fell from the steeple when she made the foolhardy attempt to hang those lights. Her death was tragic and unfortunate, but there was no foul play there. I’ve told the police chief this.”

  “Why didn’t you and Vianna tell anyone, or announce it that very day?” I asked.

  He placed his elbows back on the top of the desk. “That was Vianna’s idea, not mine.”

  I gave him a look.

  He frowned. “It’s the truth. She didn’t want to overshadow Krissie Pumpernickle’s wedding, and she knew it would impact her relationship with you as the director of Barton Farm. For all intents and purposes, she would be your boss when everything was sorted out. She thought it was best to wait until after the wedding and then deal with what being Maxwell Cherry’s daughter meant.”

  Get through the wedding. That had been my motto of the week. I was surprised that it had been Vianna’s too. Once again, it occurred to me that maybe we weren’t as different from each other as I’d thought we were.

  “If she’d told me, she could have forced me to hang those lights in the church steeple and she might still be alive,” I pointed out.

  “Perhaps.” Henry shrugged. “It was Vianna’s decision, but it has put me in a bit of trouble. Since I knew about her good fortune before the general public did, your police detective has gotten it into her head I might have had something to do with her death.” His brow knit together.

  I braced my hands on my knees. “You had as much to lose as I did if she’d taken over the Foundation.”

  “Be that as it may, I had nothing to do with it. Take my word for it.”

  I couldn’t just take his word for that, or anything else really. “And how would we know you had nothing to do with the murder?”

  He gave me a mirthless smile. “You can ask the New Hartford mayor. I was over at his house the night Vianna died. The mayor was there, as well as three other important men from the community.”

  “What are their names?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Now, now, Kelsey, I’ve told this to the police. I have no need to give their names to you.”

  I glared at him.

  He smiled. “So as you can see, nothing has changed, Ms. Cambridge. You’re in the same spot as you were before. You run Barton Farm, and you answer to the Cherry Foundation Board and to me. You should feel grateful that the status quo was upheld.”

  I stood up. “Even if a young woman had to die to uphold it.”

  He shrugged as i
f it were of little consequence.

  If I didn’t dislike Henry Ratcliffe already, that would have done it.

  I walked to the door and opened it. I saw the secretary’s desk was still empty. I turned and asked Henry one final question. “Did Vianna have any children? Is it possible that a relative of hers could come out of the woodwork, too, and claim to the rightful heir?”

  “No,” he said firmly. “I checked.”

  I was sure he had. He wasn’t going to let another heir wander onto his doorstep when he’d almost lost everything when the first one arrived. But the question remained, despite his protests to the contrary—had he gotten rid of Vianna to keep his position at the Foundation? He might have an alibi, but he also had more than enough money at his disposal to pay someone to do his dirty work.

  I kept those thoughts to myself as I strode out of the office.

  twenty-five

  I blew out a breath as I turned into Barton Farm’s parking lot. It was late afternoon, and the Farm closed at five. It wouldn’t be long before all the tourists were gone and the Farm was returned to the employees for another night. And the wedding was two days away. Even with everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours, it appeared the wedding was a go.

  As far as finding the murderer, I didn’t know where to look next. Henry was a viable suspect, with the means and motive to hire someone to push Vianna out the bell tower window. But if Henry had hired someone, the killer could be anybody. It might not be someone Vianna had ever come across in her life, and I imagined a person who did that kind of work was very good at covering his tracks and disappearing after he’d collected his money. I supposed that Armin was a suspect too, because he’d loved Vianna and she’d rejected him, but it was hard for me to imagine Armin climbing up the ladder into the bell tower. I wasn’t even certain he could squeeze through the hatch, and there was no way such a giant man could sneak up on someone.

  And I had to admit to myself—even if I wouldn’t to Benji—that Piper was as viable a suspect as Henry. She was Vianna’s assistant. Armin said that she was in a way Vianna’s protégé, and Vianna might have left her thriving wedding planning business to her. That was a serious motive. And I couldn’t ignore that fact that Vianna was a difficult person to get along with. Maybe the wedding planner had pushed Piper too far and Piper snapped and in turn pushed her boss out the window. Detective Brandon would know if Vianna had left Piper the business. She would also know why Piper had a police record, but I doubted that she would answer either of those questions if I asked her for the information.

  I rested my forehead on the steering wheel of my car for a moment, thinking that I must be missing something. There had to be another option. I straightened in my seat. I wasn’t going to find that other option sitting in my car. I knew that.

  I climbed out and waved to a group of elderly tourists as they piled into a van from a local retirement home. As the van pulled away, it revealed Chase leaning against his Jeep with his arms crossed over his chest.

  My stomach tightened into a knot and I felt like my feet were stuck in a bucket of quick-dry cement. I couldn’t move. I was experiencing a mixture of relief and annoyance at seeing him there—relief because I was happy to see him, but the relief and the fact that I wanted to lean on him annoyed me.

  I didn’t have to make a decision whether or not to move. Chase dropped his arms and walked over to me. He opened his arms wide, and as if my body had a mind of its own, I stepped into his embrace. He wrapped me in a warm hug that I wished didn’t feel so good.

  “How was your day?” he asked. His lips moved on the top of my head as he spoke.

  I said the first thing that came to mind. “The sheep got inside the visitor center and caused a ruckus.”

  His chest rumbled with laughter against my cheek. “Was that all?”

  “Oh, and murder,” I said.

  I felt him kiss the top of my head. “I wish I could make it all go away for you.”

  I felt my body tense. I was certain he felt it too. It was a reflex, one that I couldn’t stop as much as I wanted to. I pressed my face farther into his chest. I wished that I could stay there forever and didn’t have to worry about losing full custody of Hayden, my ex-husband’s wedding, or murder. And as much as I didn’t want it to, the sensation scared me. I didn’t want to be dependent on a man. I’d been dependent on Eddie, and I couldn’t face that level of betrayal again.

  Chase tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “You know, dead bodies and stuff,” I said. When all else fails, make a joke, Kelsey, I thought. It’s what you’re good at.

  Concern crossed Chase’s face. He let me go, and even with the warm summer sun on my back, I felt a sudden chill. I pushed the rush of feelings aside. Now was not the time for me to sort out how I felt about Chase. I could worry about that after the wedding.

  I swallowed. “It’s almost closing time, so most of the visitors will have left the village by now or are on their way out. I wanted to check out the church.”

  He sighed, as if he knew that was the best he was going to get out of me, and he would be right—at least for the moment, until I’d had time to think. I knew that at some point, Chase would no longer stand my delay tactics. He would want to know how I felt about him. The status quo wasn’t going to work forever.

  “All right,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the village. “Lead on, Ms. Director.”

  I smiled at him, grateful that he didn’t push me. I led him to the side gate that opened directly onto the Farm grounds. I knew if we went through the visitor center, I would become entangled in some small Farm emergency and would be lucky to make it to the church by dark. I did not want to be stumbling around the bell tower at night.

  As we walked along the pebbled path, I waved at the smiling tourists passing us on their way to the exit. Chase waved to them too and asked what they liked most about the Farm, and I could feel myself relax as his normal good humor was restored.

  When we reached the village side of the Farm, I saw that several of the seasonal employees were making their way across the street. They waved at us and whipped their cell phones out of their berry baskets and satchels. I suppressed a smile. It was hard for my staffers, especially the college kids, to keep their phones hidden away all day, as they must in order not to ruin the illusion of the Farm as it was in 1863. They were so eager to reconnect with the twenty-first century that they had to do it before they even reached the visitor center to clock out.

  Cari, one of those college students, unbuttoned her waistcoat and said into the phone, “OMG, it was crazy hot today. Let’s hit that Mexican place. I need a frozen margarita.”

  Chase laughed, and I knew he’d heard her too.

  Finally, we reached the church. The crime scene tape was still across the front door, and above, the unlit twinkle lights dangled from the broken window in the bell tower. I walked up the three steps and removed the tape, scrunching it up into a ball in my right hand.

  “Are you sure you’re allowed to do that?” Chase asked, jogging up the steps to be at my side.

  “The church will be released back into my care tomorrow morning. Taking a peek at its condition now won’t make any difference.”

  “You’re getting the church back that fast? How did you manage that?” He raised his blond eyebrows.

  “I didn’t.” I looked up at him. “It was Henry Ratcliffe. He plays poker with the mayor.”

  “Ahh,” Chase said, as if that explained it. Which of course, in a town of New Hartford’s size, it did.

  “Well, if Candy said that, it must be true,” he went on. “She wouldn’t let you in there if she had her way. Trust me on that.” He frowned. “I’m surprised that she didn’t tell me. I saw her not that long ago at the station. I dropped in to visit my uncle before coming here.”

  I grimaced, the
n quickly told myself I wasn’t jealous of the beautiful police detective. Because feeling jealous was absolutely ridiculous. What a contradiction I was. I quietly mocked myself. I was unsure if I wanted Chase permanently in my life, but I was jealous at the prospect of him being with anyone else.

  I unlocked the church door with the master key on my key ring. I stuck the key ring back into the pocket of my jeans and pushed the door open. It swung into the small vestibule. The space contained a single plain pew and a small table with a sign-in book and brochures with upcoming Farm events on it. Next to the table, two doors opened wide into the sanctuary.

  I stepped inside the sanctuary. Golden summer light poured in through the clear glass windows onto the whitewashed pulpit and oak altar. The pews were plain and made of black walnut, a common tree in the valley at the time the church was built back in 1805. It had once been the First Congregational Church in a neighboring Northeast Ohio town. Now it was an artifact, like almost everything else on the Farm.

  Thinking of the church as an artifact reminded me of the tag to Jebidiah Barton’s revolver, which was burning a hole in my pocket. I knew I needed to tell Brandon about it, but it could wait until I checked out the church.

  The sanctuary was plain, no frills, and in keeping with the Western Reserve style that the settlers of this part of Ohio had brought with them from Connecticut over two hundred years ago. There was no stained glass or Jesus hanging from the cross. A calm settled over me, as it always did when I entered the Farm’s church. The serenity and lack of adornment soothed me.

  In my mind’s eye, I imagined nineteenth-century parishioners standing in the second row, hymnals in hand, the women in their bonnets and the men in three-button jackets.

  “It’s peaceful,” Chase said, breaking into the moment.

  I glanced back at him. I’d forgotten he was there. “It’s hard to believe that murder could infest this place.” I placed a hand on the back of the last pew. “I thought it would have been safe from harm.”

  “Nothing is completely safe,” Chase said.