by Darci Hannah
“What are you two doing?” Jack asked, emerging from his SUV. He was wearing street clothes. I don’t know why it came as a shock to me. Maybe because they suited him so well.
“We’re driving to the Cherry Orchard Inn,” Tay offered in her sweetest voice. “Is there a problem with that, officer?”
“No. But you were going twenty miles per hour under the speed limit, and it’s only twenty-five. That’s difficult to do. And that scooter isn’t exactly built for two. I thought maybe I could lighten the load a bit by offering Whitney a ride.”
I needed no more invitation than that. I felt a modicum of guilt abandoning Tay, but it was all for a good reason. I was desperate to pick Jack’s brain. I needed to know if he had seen the eerie twig-face in the orchard.
Out of a concern for safety, and maybe even a flash of chivalry as well, Jack insisted Tay ride ahead of us. When we were back on the road he casually remarked, “I saw you walk into town.”
I feigned a look of surprise. “Really? Well, I needed to get a few things.” Having no wish to elaborate on what I’d been doing, I was quick to change the subject. “So, how’s the investigation going? Any new suspects? Oh! I have a question for you. During your investigation, did you come across anything like this in the orchard?” With the twig-face filling the screen of my iPhone, I turned it to him, paying close attention to his eyes.
Puzzlement, and something a little darker, seized his features. He pulled off the road, threw the SUV in park, and took the phone from my hand. “Where’d you see this?”
“Ahhh, in the orchard,” I replied, breezily.
“Where in the orchard, Whitney?” He sounded curious, and not in a good way.
“Nowhere near the crime scene,” I lied, secretly crossing my fingers. Grandma Jenn had told me a long time ago that if you told a lie and crossed your fingers it negated all the bad juju. I believed her. “Tay and I were trying to join the orchard tour, and, uh … you know, we kind of ran into it. I heard you were working with the Crime Scene Unit today and wondered if you guys happened to come across anything like it. Do you recognize it?”
“No,” Jack said, and the way he said it, I believed him. “But I am curious.” He then reduced the image on the phone. Dang it! I hadn’t seen that coming. The full picture came into view, including a strip of yellow caution tape visible in the top right corner. “You were at the crime scene,” he said accusingly, glaring at me through narrowed eyes. “I told you, Whitney. Stay out of this.”
“Look, Jack. It’s my family orchard. I can hardly stay out of this. Besides, I wanted a closer look at those cherry pits.”
“So you went to the crime scene after I told you not to? You didn’t touch anything, did you?” I was quick to shake my head. “And you saw this … there?”
“We did. Didn’t you?” Apparently, he hadn’t. The thought sent the hair on the back of my neck on end.
“What time did you see this?” he demanded. “Do you remember?”
“About the same time the orchard tour set off. Eleven, I believe.”
“Well … that’s impossible. I was there around noon. And I can clearly tell you that this wasn’t there.”
“What? But wasn’t it there last night?”
“No,” he said, and gave his copper-colored hair a convincing shake. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, not in that orchard anyway. And I wouldn’t believe it was ever at the crime scene if it wasn’t for this.” He pointed to the tell-tale yellow tape in the shot.
“Maybe you missed it last night?” I suggested hopefully. “After all, it was dark, and finding Jeb like that must have been a shock to you.”
“That’s all true. But I didn’t miss it, Whit. I have a powerful flashlight, and I taped off the crime scene myself. If that had been there, I would have known it.”
“Are you saying that someone put this eerie face there between the time Jeb’s body was removed last night and this morning, when Tay and I found it, and then took it down again before you and your team came to investigate? Why would anyone go to the trouble?”
Jack fell silent. Then, “Whitney, listen to me. This is very important. Right now, I don’t care that you were at the crime scene. What I care about is who else was in the orchard with you besides Tay.”
“Well,” I said, slightly frightened by the intensity in his eyes, “there wasn’t anyone with us. We were the only ones in that part of the orchard. Everyone else was with Tate on the tour.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not exactly familiar with all the guests, but yeah, I’m pretty darn certain … ” I was about to insist that we’d been entirely alone when I suddenly remembered the eerie feeling that had come over us the moment we discovered the twig-face. Tay and I had been certain we were being watched. The word “ghost” came to mind, or “unsettled spirit,” but it was hardly a thing I’d suggest to the likes of Jack. “All right,” I said, because he was going go ask, “we didn’t see anybody, but once we found the twig-face, we both felt … well, odd. We had the feeling that someone or something was watching us. We also heard sounds—the snapping of a twig, the rustling of leaves as if something was brushing past them. It sounded like a person or animal was following us. But Jack, nothing was there. Believe me, we checked.”
“What did you do then, once you saw this?” He pointed to the eerie image on my phone.
“I’m not proud of it, but we ran.”
“Where to?” When I didn’t answer, he guessed it. “You went to the processing sheds, didn’t you? Christ, Whit. You were there before me. Tell me you didn’t touch anything.”
“Yeah. No. Of course we didn’t,” I lied again, crossing my fingers. “We were scared. We thought the processing shed would be enough to deter whatever was following us.”
He thought about this a moment, coming at last to the obvious conclusion. “I know you two did a little poking around in there. Just couldn’t resist it, could you? Remember, Whit, I know you. Don’t lie to me. What did you find?”
“I imagine we saw pretty much the same things you did. Shattered glass on the floor of Jeb’s office, an open can of Coke on the desk, a bottle of rum in the drawer that had been tampered with, and a box full of dried cherry pits, just like the ones I pointed out to you at Ed’s Diner. I had to go to the sheds—when I realized cyanide could be made from cherry pits, I needed to see if my theory was correct. It was. All the evidence is there in that shed. I know you probably saw that all those dried cherry pits in Jeb’s office belonged to Grandma Jenn. She told me the box had her name on it. But don’t worry. She had nothing to do with his murder. I’ve already talked with her. She was having Jeb clean and dry them for her. She was using the cherry pits to make therapeutic neck warmers for the church bazaar.”
Jack’s puzzling smile seemed a bit out of place until he said, “Excellent. Well, that clears that up. But I should tell you, Whit, your grandma was never a murder suspect.”
“What?” That got my goat. “Well, why ever not?”
“Ah … ” He pretended to think, then thrust three fingers before my face. “Three reasons, actually. One: we now believe Jeb died in his office, and she’s an old lady who lacks the strength to carry the body from the scene of the crime to the orchard. Two: no motive. Beside the fact that Jeb was invaluable to the orchard, he and Jenn were in a romantic relationship. They were crazy about each other.”
“You knew about that?”
“Of course. Everybody knew. I’m surprised you didn’t. And three: Jenn’s alibi checks out. She was in the inn kitchen with your mom and Bob Bonaire during the time the murder occurred. They were prepping the Saturday menu. She and your mom were baking cherry pecan bread. But you’re right, Whit. Cherry pits are significant here. It’s like the murderer is toying with us, using them as an ironic statement or something. And this,” he said, indicating to the eerie twig-face. “I have n
o idea what the meaning of this is, but the fact that only you and Tay have seen it alarms me. Someone was in that orchard with you, Whitney, and I don’t like it. Remember, Jeb’s killer is still out there. And whoever it is, they’re familiar enough with this place to know their way around the orchard and processing sheds.”
“Erik Larson,” I blurted, thinking of the boy Tay and I wanted to talk to.
Curiosity animated Jack’s features. “What about him?”
“He works on the orchard,” I said, and briefly explained to Jack what Char had told us about Lori Larson and her embarrassment two years ago during the pie bake-off at the Cherry Blossom Festival.
“Interesting. So you think an eighteen-year-old kid murdered his employer due to a slight his mom suffered two years ago? Whit, if that poor kid went around murdering everyone who’s ever made fun of his mother’s baking, there wouldn’t be a soul left in the entire village, himself included. He’s merciless on the woman.”
“You obviously know him,” I said. I might also have sneered a little at his overwhelming confidence.
“Of course I know him. I make it a point to get to know all the kids around here.” From the way Jack said this, one would think him the embodiment of Officer Friendly. He grew serious again, adding, “Then too, Erik Larson’s no angel. A couple of years ago, when his parents were going through a rough patch, I caught him and his buddy Cody Rivers stealing bikes from vacationers and selling them on Craigslist. They were using the money they made to buy beer and pot. Earlier this year, young Mr. Larson was involved in a scandal at the high school involving the use and distribution of steroids. Wasn’t the only one using them either. When Tate found out, he was beside himself. He had to report it, even knowing the whole team would be suspended. Was a real pity, too, because we were leading our division. Believe me, Whit. I’ve already talked with Erik. For all his faults, he’s a sweet kid. I don’t for a minute suspect him of murder. But he was with Jeb last night, helping him prepare the hay wagon for the orchard tour. Then, after delivering the note to your father, he stuck around waiting for his girlfriend to finish her shift.”
“A pretty girl with tawny-blonde hair?”
“Yeah,” he said, mildly impressed. “Kenna McKinnon’s her name. Everyone on the staff was pretty freaked out last night, especially the high school kids. I thought Erik might have seen something out of the ordinary. But he was too distraught by the incident to be much help. I believe he was in a state of shock when we spoke, which isn’t unusual. Jeb was something of a mentor to him.”
“And you think it’s safe to allow the high school kids to work today?”
Jack nodded. “We’re not dealing with a serial killer, Whit. Jeb Carlson was the target. Only I still don’t know why.”
I suddenly recalled my conversation with Grandma Jenn. She’d said that Jeb was acting strangely before the Cherry Blossom Festival began. She thought he might have stumbled upon some troubling information. Or, as Jack had suggested earlier, maybe he knew somebody’s wicked secret. Knowing Jeb, he might have even poked his nose a little too far into the matter, never realizing he’d be made to pay the price. But what had he stumbled upon? I looked at the picture of the twig-face on my iPhone and felt even more confused.
“Whitney. Whit?” I hadn’t realized Jack was speaking to me. “You look a bit out of it. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just tired. I think the hours are finally catching up with me.”
“Really?” he remarked, putting the car in gear. “I thought it was the wine.”
Twenty-Three
I saw MacLaren pull off the road. What were you guys doing back there … or shouldn’t I ask?” Tay smiled teasingly and alighted from a front porch rocking chair.
I cast her a look that expressed a sarcastic really? and pulled her with me through the front doors of the inn. “I asked him about this.” I flashed her the twig-face picture on my phone and kept walking. “He’s never seen it before, which means that you and I are the only ones. Come on.” I beckoned, slipping behind the front desk and through the door leading to the family quarters. “I need to change. I’ve got a new plan.”
My bedroom was on the second floor. As I opened the door, Tay stopped on the threshold and giggled. “A Victorian love nest, that’s what this is. Jani’s really outdone herself on this one.”
I gave my old room the once-over, feeling a bit like a guest as I stared at the lovely, white antique furniture, the vases of brightly colored flowers, the china tea set delicately perched on a table by the window, the lace curtains, and the tester bed swagged in wreaths of flowers and pink chiffon. It was flowery, feminine, and overtly romantic.“I don’t know,” I mused, grabbing up my suitcase from the floor and plopping it on the bed. “I kind of miss the shocking pink walls and the boy-band posters. Mom couldn’t wait to rip them down the moment I graduated college.”
“Can’t say that I blame her.” Tay flopped on the bed and lounged on the decadent array of pillows like an Egyptian queen. “What do you think she’s trying to say with a statement like this?”
“I haven’t a clue. Nor do I care to guess. She told me these were all leftovers from the inn—as if that’s a legit excuse to rip all the hot, broody men off my wall.”
“Whit, she has an eye for decorating. And from the looks of this I’d say she’s hoping to inspire some romantic feelings in her romantically stifled daughter.”
“Yeah, well,” I began, rummaging through my bag, “I’m not romantically stifled. I’ve just quit men for a while. It’s no different than dropping carbs from your diet. Sure, you crave them, but it’s far healthier to go without.”
Skepticism was written all over Tay’s face, helped along by a dramatic eye roll. I held up a flouncy, knee-length sundress and proclaimed, “My new plan. Erik Larson is working today, bussing both the wine and cheese tasting and dinner. We’re gonna find this kid and ask him some pressing questions.”
“Ah! We’re going to do a little mingling.” Tay ginned.
“Sober mingling,” I reminded her. “It was fortuitous Char mentioned him. I told you that you and I are the only ones to have seen that eerie twig-face, but what if Jeb had seen it someplace as well—or maybe overheard something in the orchard he wasn’t supposed to? Erik worked closely with Jeb and was with him in the processing shed the night he was poisoned. Erik was the one who delivered Jeb’s note to my dad. Then, shortly thereafter, Erik overheard Dad and Jeb arguing, and he told Jack about that as well. We know that Dad was upset about the missing wine, but what if the wine was only one of the issues they fought about? Grandma Jenn told me that Jeb was acting strange and had asked to speak with her in private two days earlier. She never got the chance to find out what he was worried about, and maybe Dad didn’t either. I think Jeb saw or heard something in the orchard that troubled him, and he wanted to bring it to my dad’s attention. But being a notorious hothead, Dad might have been too torqued up about the missing wine to hear whatever else Jeb wanted to tell him. Jeb’s no longer here to tell us what was going on, but Erik is. He might know what Jeb knew … or he might be the one causing all the mischief.”
Tay sat up with a start. “Well, don’t just stand there. Put that thing on!”
The wine and cheese event was always a big hit. It was open to the public, and, being that it was a lovely Saturday afternoon in late May, the event appeared to be a very popular destination. The overflow parking was full. Cars were lining the winding drive all the way down to the main road. I would have liked to think everyone had come for the wine, cheese, and other cherry products showcased under the tent, but I had the suspicious feeling that the overly large crowd was due in part to morbid curiosity. Murder, I mused. It was as titillating in these parts as a Friday night fish fry.
While Tay threw on one of my old dresses, I popped in to the kitchen to have a word with Dad. The large crowd had sent the kitchen into a tizzy, a
nd he and Mom were helping out, putting the finishing touches on yet more giant platters of cheese, assorted breads and crackers, and fresh berries to be brought to the lawn. A tall, lanky dark-haired fellow, whom I recognized as one of the bartenders, was talking with Dad. Apparently extra cases of cherry wine were needed under the tent. As I walked over to the long counter Mom and Dad were working at, the bartender gave a slight nod in my direction and left. My parents turned. Smiles of joy, and perhaps relief, broke out on their faces.
“No need to stop on my account,” I said, sidling up to the counter. I picked up a box of gourmet sesame crackers and began adding them artfully to the tray beside Dad’s slices of neatly shingled cherry Gouda. Mom was arranging plump strawberries, raspberries, and huge blackberries on a platter surrounding a bowl of the inn’s signature candy: creamy squares of dark chocolate infused with tart cherries. Everything looked delicious. “You always said that there’s no time to stop in a busy kitchen. I just came down to see how things were going, and to ask how you two are holding up.”
“We’re so glad you’re here,” Mom said, and I could see that she meant it.
“And now that I’ve spoken to MacLaren,” Dad chimed in, “we’re both doing a little better. It was a relief to know that my croquet mallet wasn’t the murder weapon. But still, poison … ” He gave a disparaging shake of his head. “What a terrible way to die.”
“I agree. And that’s partially why I’m here.” It was then that I asked Dad if the stolen wine was the only thing that Jeb had wanted to discuss. He was quick to acknowledge that it was. Then, however, he looked up from the cheese tray.
“Maybe there was something else? Jeb told me there were ‘strange happenings’ about. Damn right there was, I had told him. The lighthouse had been broken into and all our wine was gone! That’s what I imagined he meant. Could he have meant something else?”