Blackberry Burial

by Sharon Farrow

  I had a sudden thought. “Did the students ever visit the Sanderling farm that summer?”

  Theo pointed with excitement at a rose-breasted grosbeak. “Look.”

  “Theo, did you hear me?”

  He nodded, his eyes fastened on the colorful bird. “Gordon’s family invited two of the Brambles to their farm. It was Gordon’s birthday and they had a party.”

  “Did you go to the birthday party at the farm, too?”

  “Yes.” Theo finally turned his attention back to me. “His family was nice. And they had a lot of food. More than I’ve ever seen at a party. They gave us wine, too. Even though some of us weren’t grown-ups yet.” He leaned a bit closer. “The teachers weren’t happy about that.”

  I thought back to when the Sanderling vineyard went out of business. It was shortly before the summer Sienna went missing. But Sanderling wines continued to be sold out of their cellar for several more years until their supply was gone. Some of those wines must have been served to the BAS crowd.

  “Did any of you go into the woods while you were there?”

  He cocked his head at me. “Why would we do that? It was a birthday party. We sat at the picnic tables by the barn. No one went anywhere else.”

  I wasn’t certain about that. If the Sanderlings invited a lot of people to the party, it would have been easy for several to slip away. Had the killer been among them and noticed the large stand of woods on the property? “The police need to know about this. It’s important.”

  His expression turned fearful. “I don’t want to talk to the police. They’ll put me in jail. I won’t talk to them, Marlee. Don’t make me.”

  “Theo, I don’t understand why—”

  “I mean it. If they come here again, I’ll run away.”

  I had never seen Theo so determined. There was no doubt in my mind that he would flee at the first sight of the police. “Okay. But I have to tell Captain Holt that a group of BAS students were at the Sanderling farm the summer Sienna disappeared.” I got to my feet.

  Theo looked at me in surprise. “You’re going?”

  “I’ve been away from the shop too long. But I’m glad you showed me the bird feeders.”

  He stood up, carefully smoothing down his spotless jeans. “I can get any bird I want to come, as long as they’re in the area. I call them. Do you want to see?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  “What bird should I call?”

  I glanced over at the unimpressive dwelling known as Crow Cottage. “A crow.”

  “Crows are easy.” Theo shut his eyes and let out a series of piercing catlike growls.

  A good two minutes passed while he continued his bird calls, interspersed with occasional pauses. I grew uncomfortable and sorry I had played along with him. But I didn’t know how to bring a halt to this whole thing without embarrassing Theo.

  Suddenly, I heard a flutter of wings behind me. I peeked over my shoulder. Perched on top of the metal lawn chair was a gleaming black crow. It stared back at me before letting out a piercing caw.

  “I thought you were joking,” I said in a hushed voice as the enormous bird and I looked at each other.

  “I don’t like jokes,” Theo said. “And I would never joke about birds. They’re my friends. Would you like me to call for a nuthatch next? Or maybe a robin?”

  Before I could choose another bird species for him to summon, the distant sound of a police siren met our ears. Theo looked at me in horror.

  “The police are coming back!”

  “No. They’re not coming to the cottage.” I reached out for Theo as he took several steps backward. “Listen, the siren is getting fainter. It’s nowhere near here.”

  He clapped his hands over his ears. “Tell them to go away. I won’t see them. I won’t!” Pushing past me, Theo ran out of the backyard. A moment later, I heard his front door slam shut.

  I shook my head. This whole visit had ended exactly the way it had begun—with a terrified Theo hiding in the cottage.

  Surprisingly, the crow hadn’t flown off yet.

  “And what do you have to say about all this, Magic Crow?”

  Shooting me an inscrutable look, the bird gave another deafening caw before taking wing. I took that as a signal for me to leave as well. There was no point in trying to talk to Theo again today. He had a fear of the police that I would not be able to calm. And I had a fear as well. I was afraid I’d been drawn into yet another murder case.

  Chapter 8

  That night I had another troubling dream, but this one didn’t include human skulls or monster dogs. Instead, it featured a flock of angry crows fighting over the berries on a wild blackberry bush. At the end of the dream, one of the crows looked in my direction and said something in Greek. Then it bit me on the arm.

  An hour after I woke up, the dream still haunted me. And my arm felt strangely sore. Even though I didn’t put much stock in dreams, this one seemed significant. And disturbing. I knew if I wanted an interpretation, there was only one person to ask: Natasha. The superstitious Russian slept with a notebook beside the bed to record her dreams, thumbing through her dream dictionaries every morning to figure out what the latest dream meant. And while I hoped the dream heralded good things, violent talking crows seemed the stuff of nightmares.

  I called Natasha while sipping coffee as I sat in my Adirondack chair on the bluff overlooking Lake Michigan. The sight of the majestic lake always helped put things into perspective, and I needed reassurance from both nature and Natasha that my dream didn’t foreshadow ill fortune. But I felt like dark trouble had already come calling. Murder had a way of upending one’s carefully constructed life. And I should know. Beginning with the Chaplin case in New York, I had now been involved with three murders in three years. I only hoped bad things came in threes, and this latest murder would be the end of it.

  When Natasha answered, I explained my need for a dream session. Natasha was so thrilled by my request, she temporarily forgot how to speak English. When her Russian at last veered into a language I understood, I described the dream about the crows and the berries. I waited while Natasha retrieved her dream dictionaries. Dasha’s high-pitched barking could be heard in the background.

  “Let me see,” she said after a moment. “Big angry crow who bites you. Berries. And a bird who talks Greek. Do you remember what Greek words this bird uses?”

  “No, except for ‘Yasou.’ And I know that means ‘hello.’” I had vacationed in Greece for a month after college graduation, which was long enough to learn how to greet people, thank them, and order food. But that was the extent of my facility with the language. “Why would the crow say something in Greek?”

  “The girl buried in woods. Her name is Katsaros, da? Is Greek. I have good friend who was Miss Greece. Despina from Thessaloniki. I know what is Greek name. If bird speaks Greek, dream has something to do with dead girl.”

  Natasha murmured to herself in Russian for a few minutes; the sound of turning pages and Dasha’s barks served as accompaniment “What does my dream mean?” I said finally.

  “Is confusing. Maybe I not tell you.”

  “Natasha, you have to tell me. Otherwise I’ll think the dream means disaster and bad luck is headed my way.” I prepared myself for the worst. “Does it?”

  “Depends. Crow is strange bird. How you say? Mystical. To dream of crow is rare. And you have many crows in dream. This is symbol of people who want to influence you. Be careful. Do not listen to them.”

  “The crow bit me. Is that a bad thing?”

  “To be bit is never good. But crow is smart. Most smart bird there is. If crow bites you, it wants you to pay attention.”

  “To what?”

  “Ya ne znayu. I don’t know. Berries, I think. You say crows are eating berries in dream?”

  “Yes. Wild blackberries.”

  “Then you must pay attention to such berries.”

  Since it was blackberry season and the Blackberry Art School was celebrating its cent
enary, I was already paying an inordinate amount of attention to the fruit. This was silly. I had dreamed of crows because one showed up at Theo’s cottage yesterday. Also, my life revolved around berries. Of course I’d dream about them.

  “Thanks for the interpretation. But it’s almost ten. I have to get to the store.”

  “One more thing, Marlee. Crows not always good in dream. Sometimes they mean much sadness. And smert.”

  “Smert?”

  “Death.”

  * * *

  The last thing I needed to hear was that my dream about crows and berries foretold death. But if I didn’t want to hear the truth, I should never have asked Natasha to play soothsayer. Besides, I had never believed in dreams before. This wasn’t the time to start.

  Luckily, I had a lot to divert me. From the Fourth of July to Labor Day weekend, Oriole Point witnessed a virtual onslaught of tourists. I’d be hunched over my computer records each night trying to figure out what store item needed to be reordered—and how quickly could I have it express shipped. I’d ordered extra quantities of blackberry food products to coincide with the BAS centenary festivities, which began on Monday.

  Several BAS alumni had already arrived, visiting the store as soon as we opened on Saturday. Because they were much older than me, I didn’t recognize them as fellow students. But they wore purple “100 Years of Art on the Bayou” T-shirts, proving they were here for the centenary. Their high spirits boded well for the upcoming week. So did their enthusiasm for my store-made blend of blackberry and chocolate tea. Three of them purchased a tin of it. I felt confident my shop was ready for the incursion of blackberry-loving visitors.

  I’d set up a butcher-block table in the center of the store stacked with blackberry-flavored tea, coffee, jams and jellies, syrups, wine, candy, and granola. A shipment of Asian blackberry vinegar arrived that morning, just in time to include the bottles in my butcher-block display. Blackberry and raspberry pies from Zellars were lined up in our pie case, and Theo had baked heavenly blackberry muffins bursting with ripe fruit. It wasn’t even noon, and we’d already sold two dozen. I’d also stocked ceramic berry bowls and mugs decorated with blackberries. Blackberry-themed jewelry, too. Except that every time I looked over at the blackberry charm bracelets, I remembered the crayon bracelet unearthed by Charlie.

  Behind the counter three posters greeted customers. Two of them announced the Blackberry Art School centenary and road rally. The other displayed the nutritional and cosmetic benefits of blackberries. For example, eating fresh blackberries can promote tightening of skin tissue—a cost-effective, healthy way to look younger. Because blackberries possess a high tannin count, the fruit also helps to relieve inflammation of the intestines, which makes it a good tea or smoothie for anyone suffering from tummy troubles. And for as long as they were in season, I ate a cup of fresh blackberries each morning, providing me with half my daily vitamin C requirement. A smaller poster by the door related further interesting facts about the fruit, including the other names it is known by: bramble-berry, dewberry, and thimbleberry.

  No matter how many berry facts I made available on my walls, someone always had a question I hadn’t thought to provide information on. I knew instinctively that the woman dressed in white culottes and a bright yellow shirt who approached the cash register had a blackberry question.

  “Excuse me, miss,” she said in an accent that placed her south of the state of Indiana. “My blackberry plants aren’t doing well. I love blackberries, but I can’t get any fruit out of them. As soon as I think they’re about to ripen, the berries turn brown or shrivel up.”

  “Sounds like a leaf disease called anthracnose. It’s caused by a fungus. Take a specimen to your local nursery and they should be able to diagnose the problem.” I wondered why she hadn’t done so already. As I often reminded my staff, I only sold berry products; I didn’t grow them. Although generations of Jacobs had done just that, going all the way back to the eighteenth century in the Netherlands. “If the plant is relatively new, it may have had a virus when you bought it. And make certain your domestic blackberry plant is nowhere near wild blackberries, which carry viruses.”

  After she left, my thoughts returned to the dream I had the night before. Wild blackberry bushes figured largely in it, as they did at the site of the burial. I closed my eyes, trying to re-create the site in my mind. The images from last night’s dream returned, more vivid and disturbing than ever.

  “Earth to Marlee.”

  I opened my eyes to see Dean staring at me with a mixture of concern and exasperation. “Were you talking to me?”

  “Ah, yeah. I asked you to quiz me.” He held up a coffee table book entitled The Age of French Impressionism. “Been boning up on the Impressionists all week. I assigned twentieth-century art to Andrew. If there are any painting clues in the road rally, he and I need to be prepared.” Dean rifled the pages of the book. “Go ahead. Ask me about Renoir or Degas.”

  “Please stop studying for the road rally.”

  “But Andrew and I intend to win.”

  “Dean, I took part in the road rally last year. It’s just a scavenger hunt. If we drive fast and guess well, we have a good chance of snagging one of the top three prizes. But this is not the SATs. We’re supposed to have fun at the Blackberry Road Rally. And speaking of blackberries . . .” I slipped my cell phone out of my apron pocket and searched for Captain Holt’s number.

  Things had slowed down, and there were only two people in the store aside from Dean and me. I could leave The Berry Basket in Dean’s hands for a while. “I’ll be gone for an hour or two,” I said, waiting for Holt to pick up. “If things get crazy busy, call me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have business to attend to,” I replied, then headed into the back room as soon as I heard Holt’s voice. No need to let Dean know the business concerned murder, not The Berry Basket. Although Natasha had helped me as best she could, I had my own interpretation of last night’s dream. And it required that I return to the scene of the crime.

  Chapter 9

  On the way to the Sanderling farm, I missed the looming presence of Piper’s overgrown puppy in my backseat. If Gordon happened to be at home today, there was certain to be an angry reaction from him when I showed up. With Charlemagne by my side, Gordon might think twice before trying to throw me off his property. But when I turned onto his driveway Gordon’s green van was nowhere in sight. However, several law enforcement vehicles were in evidence. There were two uniformed officers in the pasture, and another pair returning from the woods, accompanied by leashed dogs. The search for additional bodies on the property continued.

  As soon as I got out of my car, I spotted Atticus Holt sitting on a bench by the picnic table.

  “Thanks for meeting me here,” I said when he met me halfway. “Since it’s Saturday, I was worried you might have the day off.”

  “It is my day off,” he said with an easy smile, “but I’ve been putting in extra hours on the case. So is Detective Trejo. He and I were at the Blackberry Art School this morning.”

  “Are you and he partners? I didn’t know that was possible. After all, you work for the sheriff’s department, and he’s a state trooper.”

  “Both departments are involved in the Katsaros case.” He hesitated. “And he’s family.”

  “Family?”

  He laughed. “Don’t look so shocked. Greg’s my brother-in-law; he married my sister ten years ago. They have three kids.”

  “Wow. I never would have pegged Detective Trejo as a family man.” To be honest, I couldn’t picture Trejo as anything but an attractive robot. To hear he had a wife and three children seemed as fantastical as my talking crows.

  “He’s not bad once you get to know him. But he is a little intense. I’ve tried to get him to ease up a little, especially with people who are witnesses, not suspects. He sometimes treats the guilty and innocent exactly the same.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” I looked arou
nd. “Is he here?”

  “Nope. Just you and me, and two search teams.”

  “Anything else turn up?”

  “Not yet. And we’re getting ready to wrap things up tomorrow. Not a moment too soon for Gordon Sanderling. He’s been staying away as much as possible while the police are here.” Holt gave me a questioning look. “When you called you asked me to take you back to the burial site. Are you certain that’s what you want?”

  I turned my gaze to the wooded area. Now that I was here, I felt uneasy. A girl was buried in those woods. Perhaps she had also been murdered there. And she was no longer an anonymous pile of bones. She had a name. I knew how young she had been when her life ended, that she was a gifted artist and had a family so shattered by her disappearance they kept up the search for their daughter for five years. And my baker had loved her. When I charged after Charlie a few days ago, I didn’t know what was waiting for me in those woods. Now I did. An innocent young girl had been buried there, her killer assuming she would remain hidden forever. But Theo was right: After twenty long years, the victim had been found. And she wanted justice.

  “Marlee, you look nervous. You don’t have to go back in there.”

  I took a deep breath. “Yes, I do.”

  As we set off for the woods, I looked down at my watch. When I chased after Charlie, I hadn’t paid attention to how much time had gone by before I’d reached the burial site. I needed to know how long it had taken the killer to bring his victim to the site. Once we reached the woods, I noticed yellow markers placed along the ground, with yellow police tape sporadically wrapped around several trees. The trail to the burial was now unmistakable. Even the branches and vegetation I had tripped over had been flattened, and I could see numerous footprints and paw prints as I followed behind Holt.

  “Be careful how you step,” Holt called over his shoulder. “The ground’s uneven.”

  “I remember.” I glanced up at the towering trees. It was an overcast day, still and muggy. The woods seemed dimmer than before, the trees more close together. As if the forest itself was weary of all the recent intrusion by humans and wanted to shut us out. “Were Sienna’s parents relieved to hear that her body had finally been found?”