Cherry Pies & Deadly Lies

by Darci Hannah

  “Was that Vander Hagen’s car I saw parked near the family wing?”

  “Yep,” I said with a nod, shoving the salmon-loaded cracker into my mouth. It was kind of a mistake. An explosion of smoke-tinged salty goodness awakened my taste buds, rendering me speechless. I grinned appreciatively and kept nodding, chewing until I could swallow again. “Fabulous stuff,” I remarked, then explained. “Tate, I’ve learned, is like my parent’s house elf—always there, always showing up where you least expect him. I took a nap this afternoon and when I awoke—POOF! —he was there, standing like a hero in the sunroom.”

  “Yes, he’s quite the hero, but I hear you were the one who actually freed yourself from what was sure to be a tragic death.”

  I swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in my throat and nodded. “True, but I was on the verge of passing out. If Tate hadn’t been there … ”

  “It’s all right. No need to talk about such a terrible night so soon. Let’s change the subject and focus on something more pleasant, shall we? How about that wine? Do you like it?”

  Truthfully, I hadn’t tried it. With Carleton watching expectantly, I picked up my glass and took a tiny sip. I was immediately struck by the flavor of cherries. It was cherry wine, and not a very good one. It was a little too sour and a hint too vinegary for my taste. However, I was not about to let a little glass of wine get in the way of my romantic dinner under the blossoms with Carleton. I set the glass back down and smiled. “Very nice. This whole dinner is so wonderful. I can’t believe we’re finally alone. Now that we are, I realize I hardly know anything about you.”

  “What would you like to know, Whitney Bloom?” Carleton rested his elbows on the table, folded his hands, and leaned in, grinning.

  “Oh, like, everything,” I said. He raised a brow at this, then reached for something in the picnic basket. While he wasn’t looking I covertly dumped out my wine, pretending I’d finished it.

  “Here,” he said, “let’s just skip to dessert, shall we?” He placed a plate before me, on which sat a piece of my deconstructed cherry pie.

  “What’s … this?”

  “Don’t you remember? I told you that one day I would sweep you off your feet and you would know who I was. Do you recognize the pie? You ought to. It’s your own recipe.”

  My eyes flew wide. “C-Bomb? You’re C-Bomb? You’re the man who’s been writing to me over the internet?” I was intrigued, delighted, and yet a little disturbed as well. “Holy mother of mischief! Why didn’t you say anything? I thought it might be you, but I never dared to dream … ”

  An odd sort of look crossed his features as he stared at me. “It’s truly amazing. I thought you would figure it out sooner.” He reached over to refill my wine.

  As Carleton spoke, the phone in my pocket vibrated. He kept talking while I looked at it. It was a message from Giff. My heart stilled. Struck out with Sorensen and Finn, so Tay and I did a little poking around on Carleton Brisbane. Not his real name. Thought I recognized him. He’s Francis Flannigan, CEO of Flannigan Industries, which is the holding company for Stay Fresh Feminine Products—the brand you single-handedly ruined with that ad!”

  All the blood drained from my face as realization dawned on me. The final, heart-rending pieces of the puzzle fell in to place. Dear God. That Ad.

  Help. With him now, I texted. Call Jack.

  I had just hit send when the phone was yanked from my hands. I looked up and froze. Carleton had a gun pointed straight at me. He looked at the phone, snarled, and then threw it into the orchard.

  “You lied to me,” I said accusingly. “You lied to us all, Francis Flannigan.” At the sound of his true name, his lips twisted into an ironic grin. “We’ve never actually met,” I pointed out.

  “Funny, that. And yet you took it upon yourself to make an ad that destroyed my brand. I lost millions, millions I couldn’t afford to lose, because of you, Whitney Bloom.”

  “Now hold on a minute!” I cried, ignoring the gun to properly glare at him. “Your marketing department encouraged it. They loved that ad!”

  “All a parcel of overeducated morons. They were charmed by you, their judgment impaired by your enthusiasm: ‘A modern-day Dutch girl saves her boyfriend and all of Holland by stopping up a leak in the dyke with a super-absorbent Forever Free tampon!’ How clever of you to make such an ad, and how foolish of my marketing department to unveil that rubbish during the Super Bowl. They’ve been dealt with, Whitney. But you needed to be taught a lesson as well. My nephew, Finley, convinced me of it.”

  My jaw dropped. “Finn Connelly? He’s your nephew?” I’d never connected the two, likely because of Finn’s Irish brogue, but it did make sense. As I stared at Carleton, I saw the slight family resemblance. Both men were handsome, but it was their mesmerizing aquamarine eyes and dark hair that were so remarkable … that and the fact that they were both psycho killers.

  “Finley Flannigan is his real name,” Carleton added. “You met him last night, I believe? A crazy, baseless bastard with a winning smile and the soul of a thug? He was my late brother’s son, you see, and my legal heir. When my brother passed away five years ago, Finn came to live with me in America, bringing his rough Irish ways with him. He was like an incorrigible pet. I spoiled him rotten and encouraged him to continue his education in substance abuse and fornication because he was so good at it. Finley liked money and all the things it could buy him. When he realized your ad spelled doom for the lavish lifestyle he’d grown accustom to, he convinced me that you needed to be taught a lesson. I wholeheartedly agreed. But, sadly, you’d already destroyed your career and were reduced to selling cherry pies on the internet by the time I caught up with you. That’s when Finn encouraged me to strike up a relationship with you. He told me to toy with you—to draw out any thread of information that might be helpful. You see, he thought you were a desperate and lonely woman, and he was correct.”

  “What?” I cried. “I’m none of those things!”

  “Then why were you so willing to chat with me online—a perfect stranger—and share with me your most intimate thoughts and the pathetic details of your life? That’s the definition of desperate, my dear. I actually enjoyed our chats, and was even a little smitten as well, once I realized there was nothing left to take from you. But then you told me all about the Cherry Orchard Inn in Cherry Cove. Finn looked into it and became obsessed. It’s quite a little gem.”

  “That’s … that’s diabolical! You let your pathetic nephew talk you into ruining my parents?”

  “Not just ruin, my dear. We were planning a hostile takeover. You’re sitting on prime real estate, or haven’t you noticed? This property alone is worth a fortune. Imagine what it would be worth with hundreds of upscale condos littering this bluff?”

  “No,” I exhaled, scandalized.

  “Anyhow, while I worked you over on the internet for the past year, I also made several visits to Cherry Cove. Your former boyfriend, Tate, was quick to make me feel at home. He was enamored of my yacht, you see, and took me under his wing. He introduced me to your parents. And while I was elbowing my way into this charming little village, Finn got a job at the inn. He can be utterly charming when it serves his purpose. He was hired on the spot and began working his magic on the younger employees. While cultivating his young workforce, he also began to plague the inn. He had the kids do little things, like steal money or break things. They gathered rats and put them in the kitchen. These were just pranks, and the kids loved pleasing Finn. They loved the drugs and alcohol he gave them. His aim, you see, was to ruin the inn’s pristine reputation. We’d always planned that our final blow would occur during the Cherry Blossom Festival, as we were certain that you’d come home and help your parents with the event. You were to witness firsthand your family business implode, which would remind you that your actions do have consequences. But you didn’t seem inclined to come to the inn on your own. That sur
prised me. I thought you were a better daughter than that.” Carleton’s admonishing look shamed me.

  “Hey, I am a great daughter!” I rallied, trying to ignore the crushing guilt. It didn’t work; and Carleton’s soft, condescending smile only made it worse.

  “Tsk, tsk,” he said, waving the gun. “Continue to live in your own fantasy, my dear, but we knew how it was. And because we did, we had to take matters into our own hands. Jeb was the obvious choice. Finley knew he was getting close to the truth. Jeb was smart, and wily. He had to die, and I felt that if we framed your father, you were sure to come home. So I ordered Finn to steal the wine before the festival began. Then, on Friday night, I stole the croquet mallet out of Baxter’s office. I was the one who pulverized the cherry pits in your grandmother’s blender and poisoned Jeb’s rum. Knowing his habits, I then ordered Finn to bludgeon Jeb’s body with the mallet once the poison had killed him. He was to bring the body into the orchard and sprinkle some cherry pits by the old man’s hand. That was for you, my dear—to pique your interest and induce you into a little snooping around.”

  “You planted those cherry pits?” I was aghast, mostly because it had worked.

  Carleton, popping several grapes into his mouth, nodded. “Finn wanted to kill you for what you’d done to his inheritance, and I was happy to oblige him. I let him toy with you, hunt you, scare you with that little twig-face he was so fond of. When you survived the fire, that only made him want you more. He’s a real woodsman, you see—an expert hunter who always catches his prey. When he wasn’t staying on my yacht reveling in luxury, he was living in the woods where he could give voice to all his animal desires. I made sure he never had a shortage of drugs. And because of his looks and charm, he never had a shortage of friends either. But Finley was most excited to get his hands on you, my dear. Because with your death, your parents would surely part with this place, and for mere pennies on the dollar. I already had their confidence. Tate—loyal, trusting, big-hearted Tate—would see that they sold it to me. Your parents listen to him; he’s so much like a son to them. But Finn screwed up last night. He hadn’t counted on you surviving a drowning too. When I realized he was in danger of being caught, I was forced to make a hard choice. Part of me really loved that kid. But I was driving Baxter’s boat, you see, and I couldn’t risk Finn being apprehended. I had to run the crazy bastard down and kill him. And now, Whitney dear, it is time for me to finish what I began all those months ago.”

  Carleton stood. With the gun still trained on me, he turned to the picnic hamper and pulled out a metal can. It contained kerosene, I saw. I could only look on in horror as he began dousing the bases of the cherry trees with it. He tossed the empty can aside and pulled out a long rope.

  “Come,” he ordered with a flick of his gun. I stood up but didn’t move. In the distance I could hear the sound of a motor approaching. Jack, I thought. Help was on the way. Carleton, too focused on burning down the orchard and killing me, just continued talking. “I’m tying you to this tree. You won’t feel anything, my dear, once the tranquilizer takes hold. Damn,” he said, looking levelly at me. “It should have taken effect by now.”

  I inhaled sharply and looked at my refilled wine glass. “The wine! You drugged the wine?”

  “Very good. I thought you’d recognize that too, but you didn’t. That’s the wine your father and Jeb were making. Not very good, but the young people seemed to enjoy it.”

  “You are a despicable man! And to think I actually liked you!”

  “Truthfully, my dear, it would have never worked between us, because I have my sights on Tate too.”

  That’s when I screamed.

  And that’s when a Gator came crashing through the orchard, narrowly missing the table. But it wasn’t “help” at all. It was Tate and Hannah.

  Forty-Eight

  Hannah, fresh from the hospital and consumed with jealousy, jumped out of the Gator and stormed up to Carleton, totally ignoring the fact that he had a gun in his hand.

  “How could you?” she cried, hitting him square in the chest with her balled fists. “I fed you pie while you were blindfolded! You flirted with me for, like, an hour. And now this? With my best friend?” Her voice grew whiney. Carleton laughed. Hannah’s punches had little impact, likely because she’d been released from the hospital too early and was still woozy.

  While Hannah was accosting Carleton, Tate marched over to me. I’d never seen him so angry or so hurt. He looked like a jilted lover. He looked like I’m sure I looked on the night I found him in bed with another woman.

  “Jesus, Whitney! How could you just sneak out of the house like that? After all we’ve been through? Babe, I saved you last night. I thought we had a thing going on.”

  I didn’t really know what he meant by “a thing,” but I was stunned by the situation. Carleton, the mastermind behind Finn and all the terror, was pointing his gun at me, and Tate and Hannah were so consumed by their personal jealousies that they hadn’t noticed. Then, before I could stop him, Tate grabbed my full glass of wine and tossed it back angrily.

  “No! Don’t! Holy cobbler, Tate. It’s been drugged.”

  “What?” He looked at me, then at Carleton. His eyes dropped to the gun in the other man’s hand and he uttered a thoroughly disgusted “Dude.”

  “Horse tranquilizer, to be more specific, Tatum. Are you surprised? It was me all along. And now that you two know, I’m going to have to kill you as well. Such a pity. Don’t worry. I’ll make it look like an accident.” Carleton picked up the candelabra from the table and threw it on the ground. The kerosene-soaked petals exploded. The trees were on fire.

  “Oh, crap,” Tate muttered, and fell onto the table, unconscious.

  Hannah, in a full-blown girl rage, swore and kicked at the same time. It was a hard kick, right to Carleton’s crotch. “You dirty rotten scumbag!” she spat as he dropped to the ground. She kept kicking him.

  “Quick!” I shouted, pulling her away. “Help me get Tate into the Gator!”

  Hannah was still a little disoriented, but she got the hint. She ran with me, albeit clumsily, back to Tate and together we managed to get him into the bed of the Gator they’d just arrived in. Hannah jumped into the passenger seat and I took the wheel. The moment I stepped on the gas, a shot rang out. Carleton was back on his feet and he was blazing mad.

  “Whit, I forgive you!” Hannah shouted. “He’s sooo not worth it. Just get us out of here!”

  I drove through the burning orchard, heading for the inn, but the fire and thick black smoke were making it difficult. The fire was moving through the orchard at an alarming speed, the hungry flames dancing from tree to tree consuming whatever they touched. It was a gut-wrenching sight. So too was the sight of Carleton in the other Gator, swiftly closing the distance between us. Every chance he got, he took a shot. Bullets ricocheted off tree trunks. Branches thick with white petals exploded. I kept swerving, slaloming through the trees, desperately trying to keep Carleton’s bullets from hitting Tate or Hannah. Carleton’s Gator was carrying a lighter load, but I knew the orchard like the back of my hand. My only hope was to evade him. And to do this I took the Gator deeper into the orchard, heading for the woods.

  Carleton was fast on our trail.

  I kept my foot on the gas as I crashed through bushes, mowed down weedy plants, and rambled over rocky terrain. No matter what I tried, Carleton kept gaining on us, firing his gun as we wove our way through the forest. And his aim was getting better.

  Then I remembered a narrow opening in a thick scree of pines. Below the trees was a steep ditch, and on the other side was Lighthouse Road. “Hold on to Tate!” I yelled to Hannah as I spun the Gator around. Hannah yelped as Tate’s body slammed against the other side of the cargo bed. Ignoring both, I headed for the pines. The opening was narrow and just barely visible through the thick branches. But we went for it. We didn’t really have a choice.

/>   The Gator hit the thick branches, launching an explosion of needles into the air. The impact rocked us, but I held firmly to the wheel. We flew out of the trees and bounced down the steep side of the ditch. Hannah screamed as she clung to Tate. I screamed and clung to the violently shaking wheel. By the time we were at the bottom of the ditch, I’d gained control once again and wasted no time forcing the Gator up the other side. We’d just landed on the road when Carleton came flying through after us. I hit the gas, then stopped when Hannah cried, “Carleton’s flipped his Gator!”

  It was true. Carleton’s Gator was upside down in the ditch, all four of his wheels spinning in the smoky air. The scumbag himself was trapped beneath it. His gun, I was happy to note, had been thrown ten feet from the vehicle and was wedged between two rocks.

  “Call Jack,” I told Hannah, turning off the ignition. “Tell him we need backup. Then call the fire department.”

  “The fire department’s lying unconscious in the back of a Gator!” she cried, pointing to Tate. Tate wasn’t the whole fire department, but he was a big part of it. And he was still out cold.

  “Well, just make the call. You can tell them they’ll need backup, too.” Then I ran down the embankment, scooping up the gun as I went. The moment I peered beneath the Gator, Carleton snarled at me.

  “Get this blasted thing off me!”

  “Can’t,” I said, feeling a perverse form of satisfaction that the despicable murderer was trapped. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “The Gator’s too heavy, and Tate’s been knocked out with horse tranquilizer. Oh, wait,” I said, the moment I heard the sirens. “Officer MacLaren’s on his way. Hang on a sec. Don’t move a muscle.” Carleton didn’t appreciate the humor in that.