Dying for strawberries, p.7
Dying for Strawberries, page 7
* * *
“I wish I’d gone to the meeting,” Gillian said as I blended another smoothie at our Strawberry Moon Bash booth. Hours later, she couldn’t stop talking about the Cole-Piper fight. We were so busy, conversation was often impossible. But whenever there was a lull, Gillian wanted to discuss the OPBA drama.
“You’re always telling me how much everyone fights at those things, but I didn’t know they really fought!” she continued.
“Usually, it’s just verbal. Although, at the May meeting, Yvette poured a water bottle over Jerry’s head when he accused her of stealing his sandwich board.” I handed the smoothies to a father and son waiting eagerly for them. I didn’t blame them. The humidity had gone down since yesterday, but the temperature was still in the eighties, even though it was evening.
I wiped my damp face with my chef apron. “Be honest. I look terrible, don’t I?”
“You look fine. By the way, I like the whole French braid thing. I don’t think I’ve seen you wear your hair in a French braid before.”
I reached back and touched the thick braid that hung down my back. “I thought a braid would be cooler than a ponytail. My other option was to cut it all off.”
Someone tugged that braid, and I turned around. Ryan stood on the other side of my booth table. “How are the booth brats doing?” he asked, leaning over for a kiss.
“We’ve learned Gillian can make a killer strawberry mojito. How about you?”
“People don’t come to an event like this to buy fresh strawberries. We’re closing early.”
I gazed out at the booths scattered on the grass along the Oriole River. A band played live music under the nearby gazebo. Visitors sat on blankets under the trees or strolled along the boardwalk that led from the marina and pier out to the lighthouse. All the kiddie attractions closed at five. However, the stands selling cotton candy, elephant ears, and popcorn were still doing a booming business, as were the downtown bars and restaurants just up the street. The whole thing had a carnival feel to it, which suited a summertime event. Piper’s relentless promotion of the Bash had paid off.
“When Piper throws next year’s Bash, the OPBA board should remind her to sell only food and drink in the park. The shops don’t need to set up their own booths. It’s a waste of time.”
“I’m sure you’ll see she remembers,” Ryan said with a grin.
My heart sank at his words. “I doubt I’ll even be an OPBA member next year. You need to be a business owner. And it looks like I’m about to lose mine.”
“Don’t be pessimistic,” Gillian protested. “You’ll be able to find another space to rent. Besides, the other shopkeepers are so angry at Cole, they’ll find a way to stop him.”
“No matter what, he is my landlord, and he’s pushing me out of that store in two weeks.”
“Sweetheart, we’re getting married.” Ryan stroked my cheek. “That makes you officially part of Zellar Orchards. And we’re a commercial powerhouse. Let Cole sell his overpriced buildings. Who needs The Berry Basket, anyway? You’ll be part of our business.”
Gillian beamed at us, and I tried to smile back. In truth, he had depressed me even more. His family had reason to be proud of Zellar Orchards, which included peaches, berries, pumpkins, and apples. But I would be joining a virtual tribe of Zellars, all of whom owned a piece of the orchards and farmland. They also owned two restaurants in South Haven and Saugatuck, which carried simple country fare, along with pies and tarts baked with their orchard fruits. It was no secret the Zellars hoped to expand the restaurants all along the Lake Michigan coast, eventually making inroads into the Chicago area. Thus it was a given that anyone who married into the Zellars was expected to work for the family business.
Because I ran The Berry Basket, I had not yet felt under any pressure to abandon my own business in order to concentrate on theirs. But if I lost the store, Ryan would expect me to help the Zellars market and expand their product and brand—and all from a farmhouse out in the country. From the moment we became engaged, Ryan had wanted to buy a place with at least six acres farther inland for us. I kept trying to convince him to look at houses closer to the lake, preferably my own family home in Oriole Point. So far, it was a stalemate.
“Ryan, we need the keys to the truck!” His brother Jim waved from the Zellar booth.
“Got to go. We have to haul all this fresh fruit back to the orchards.”
“You’ll be back in time for the fireworks?” I asked.
“Promise. Where do you want to meet?”
“Everyone will be pressed like sardines leading down to the beach. Let’s watch the fireworks from one of the slips at the marina.”
“Text me the number of the slip.” After another kiss, he ran off to join his brothers.
“He’s such a great guy,” Gillian said. “You’re lucky. And you’re much nicer than his first wife. Of course, that’s what he gets for marrying someone who’s not from around here.”
“I hardly think her birthplace was what caused the marriage to fail.” I didn’t want to talk about Ryan’s first marriage, any more than I wanted to think about my last boyfriend in New York City. After four years of living together, I arrived home to find he had packed up and moved. And not just to another Upper West Side apartment. He was on his way to London for a job with a global investment firm. Accompanying him was a woman called Claire, who, he claimed, wasn’t a crazed workaholic like me. Since his working hours were even more insane than mine, I found the accusation unfair. And unkind.
Gillian looked around. “People are shutting the booths early. If Piper finds out, she’ll probably punch someone else out.”
“I doubt it. She and Lionel are busy holding court on their yacht.” I pointed to one of the biggest yachts at the marina. Even in the growing dusk, I could see Piper moving among her guests on deck in a flowing yellow dress.
“I can’t believe Cole had the nerve to charge Piper with assault. After all, she’s the mayor’s wife. But she doesn’t seem upset.”
“It’s because she’s famous . . . at least for a day or two.” I sighed. “If she’s lucky, everyone will forget about it by next week. Celebrity isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
“I guess you don’t want to talk about the book by that April woman.”
I shook my head as a couple came up to the booth and asked for our most popular alcoholic drink of the day: the strawberry-basil refresher.
“Has anyone seen Cole tonight?” I grabbed a stainless-steel muddler to play bartender when Gillian went to help other customers interested in the last of our strawberry tarts.
“I heard he decided not to set up a booth for the Bash. No surprise there.”
“He was probably afraid he’d run into Piper. Or her fist.”
After dividing the strawberries into two glasses, I added strawberry syrup, several fresh basil leaves, and lemon juice. I mashed the ingredients together with the muddler before pouring in rum, soda water, and crushed ice from our cooler.
“Because of what happened at the meeting, Natasha’s been forgotten. I’m worried sick about her. I’ve called and texted her a dozen times, but nothing. Where do you think she is?”
“Hiding from Cole,” Gillian said. “If Natasha’s smart, she’ll lay low for a while.”
After garnishing the drinks with a strawberry and sprigs of fresh mint, I handed the plastic glasses to the waiting couple. When I was done, I turned to Gillian. “I don’t care how angry Cole is, it’s not like Natasha to just disappear. I hope he hasn’t done anything to her. She was probably the one to tell VanderHoff about the Fields property sale.”
“She should go to the police.”
“Except Cole charged her with assault and attempted murder. Maybe she’s hiding because of that. And I bet Natasha knows something. Like why did so many people on the zoning commission allow Cole to rezone the property for chains and franchises?”
“I hate to say it, but my friends and I would kill to have a Sonic Drive-In here.”
“I’d still like to know how he got the zoning commission to give him what he wants. Maybe I should smack him over the head with this until he tells me.” I held up the steel muddler.
When I turned to toss the muddler onto the cutting board, I saw a man move from behind a tree that stood near my booth. He walked away with his head down. By the time he reached the boardwalk, I lost sight of him in the crowd. But I caught a quick glimpse of a bruised and swollen nose. It was Cole Bowman.
* * *
Although I wanted to close my booth early, word of our strawberry mojitos, margaritas, and strawberry-basil refreshers must have spread, because we were suddenly swamped with customers waving IDs and demanding a drink. Somewhere along the way, I decided to mix a few drinks for myself. Blame the stress over April’s interview that morning, along with the prospect of losing my store, but I downed three strawberry mojitos in the next hour. I was reaching for a fourth when Gillian took the rum bottle out of my hands.
She gave me a warning look. “Marlee, I’m cutting you off. I know it’s been a rough day, but passing out drunk won’t make you feel any better.”
I burped. Maybe she was right. And I did feel a little woozy.
Gillian made the drinks from then on, while I sat in a slight stupor on a nearby stool. By the time our “bar rush” ended, it was after nine thirty. The evening breezes from the lake had cleared my head a little. I didn’t have the heart to keep Gillian any longer and told her to find her friends in time for the fireworks. Meanwhile, I packed up, but slower than I normally would. I also texted Ryan once I realized I needed his help to haul everything back to the shop.
“What are you still doing here?” I looked up to see Max wandering over with two of his friends, who also worked for him at the harbor. They all wore Riordan Outfitters T-shirts.
“Waiting for Ryan to answer my text messages. I need his truck so I can take these boxes back to the store.”
“No problem. Louis has his SUV parked by the harbormaster. We can all grab some boxes, load ’em up, and drive it over to your shop.”
“Thanks. That would be great.” I handed boxes to the three guys. “How did you get such a great parking spot during the Bash? This place is wall-to-wall people.”
“I’m parked illegally.” Louis chuckled. “But don’t worry. I’m dating Janelle.”
Janelle Davenport was an Oriole Pointe police officer who spent most of her time handing our tickets for traffic violations, except to those she was apparently dating. I wasn’t about to take the moral high ground over it. Especially since my store was three blocks away.
Within minutes, we had loaded the boxes in the SUV and were slowly driving through the crowd streaming en masse toward the beach. I figured I had about twenty minutes before the fireworks began. After parking behind my store, the four of us trooped inside and set down the boxes on the storage room floor.
“Should we drop you off at the beach?” Max asked when we were on our way back.
“No. I told Ryan I’d meet him at one of the boat slips at the marina. It will be less crowded there.” I hiccupped.
Max looked closer at me. “Are you drunk, marzipan?”
I pushed him away. “I never get drunk. You know that.”
“Liar.” Louis looked at me over his shoulder from the driver’s seat. “I was at your booth earlier to buy a margarita. You were throwing back mojitos like Lindsay Lohan.”
Vince, Max’s other friend, laughed. “I didn’t know you liked to party, Marlee.”
“Leave her alone, guys.” Max took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “The fireworks are due to start. Why don’t you come with us and watch the show from in front of my shop?”
“Janelle’s bringing a couple of friends for Vince and Max,” Louis added.
“I’m not crashing your dates. Besides, I have a date of my own. I just have to find him,”
“Are you sure?” Max asked me. “I’d hate for you to watch the fireworks alone.” He paused. “Besides, I don’t think you should be walking around by yourself. It may not be safe.”
“He’s afraid you might pass out drunk,” Louis said.
“I didn’t say that!”
“Look, I’m fine. Just a little buzzed.” I hopped out of the SUV as soon as Louis parked illegally in the harbormaster’s space. “Thanks for the lift and the irritating comments about my drinking problem. But I’ve got a fiancé to track down.”
Max put a hand on my shoulder. “If you change your mind, call me. I’ll come get you.”
After giving a final wave, I headed for the marina while texting Ryan once again. The fresh air helped clear my head, although I took greater care than usual in the simple act of walking. Once I reached the boardwalk, I decided to go as far down as possible while still being able to get a good view of the fireworks.
Although most of the boat slips were filled, several owners had taken their vessels out onto the water to get a closer view of the fireworks, which would be set off from a barge on the lake. It shouldn’t be hard to find at least one empty slip among all the cabin cruisers and yachts. With a smile, I sent Max a text that said, Thanks again for the ride. And I’m not as drunk as you think I am.
I stopped before a wide slip that was empty. An impressive cruiser named Lady of the Lake docked there, memorable for its image of a medieval princess on its white prow. Since I had seen this boat heading out for the lake earlier in the evening, Ryan and I would have the space to ourselves. I looked at the number on the piling, then texted Ryan, I’m at slip #481. Best place to see fireworks. Join me when you can. But hurry.
Who knows if he would get this message in time? Maybe something had happened at the orchards. There were always a few Zellars running about their acres, barns, and greenhouses. No doubt he’d been diverted by yet another orchard emergency. I walked out to the end of the slip, where the river lapped against the pilings below. It was lovely here. The lanterns lining the boardwalk illuminated the happy crowd—tourists, families, couples, groups of teenagers, all waiting for the fireworks. I felt much better and hardly dizzy at all.
I set my purse down by one of the wooden posts. The band had stopped playing at the gazebo; the sound of boat horns and excited laughter filled the air. Standing at the edge of the dock, I watched the red beam of the lighthouse make its familiar rotation. Overhead was the reason for this event: that glorious full moon. I had to give it to Piper. The moon even had a reddish cast to it, as if even a celestial body knew better than to not give Piper what she wanted.
Thinking of Piper’s iron determination to always get her way, I took heart that she—if no one else—might be able to put a crimp in Cole Bowman’s plans. I simply couldn’t bear to lose The Berry Basket, along with my future plans for the business.
The wood boards beneath my feet creaked, and I felt the pressure of someone walking toward me. “About time you showed up, hon,” I said. “Another minute and you were going to miss the fireworks.”
The first firework suddenly burst overhead, lighting up the sky with glittering gold stars. I was about to turn around and greet Ryan when a shadow fell across my face. Before I could say anything, something hard struck my head. I staggered to the right, reeling from the impact. What in the world had hit me? This didn’t make sense. Without warning, a second blow slammed against my temple, much stronger this time. Yelling with pain, I fought to stay on my feet. Just as my knees were about to buckle, I felt a hand on my back. Whoever was behind me now shoved with great force. I lost my balance and pitched forward off the dock. With a strangled cry of horror, I plunged into the river below.
Panicked, I tried to scream. But water poured into my mouth and nose as I began to choke. My lungs threatened to explode. I flailed about in the dark water, desperately looking for the surface.
Then everything went black.
Chapter 6
I wasn’t sure if I was drunk or dead. Most likely drunk, since I suddenly heard the theme song from Gilligan’s Island. I doubted old TV shows were available for viewing in the afterlife. If so, I intended to request a show that was far more recent. Or were the baby boomers going to control everything there, as well?
“Put that away,” a female voice said sharply. “Cell phones must be turned off while inside the hospital. If I hear one more ringtone, I’ll have a nurse confiscate all of them.”
I must be in the hospital. But how did I get here? And why did my skull throb so much? The last thing I remembered was looking up at the fireworks. With great effort, I opened my eyes. The overhead light blinded me, and I immediately shut them. My head felt as if the Oriole Point lighthouse had fallen on top of me.
“I think she opened her eyes.” I recognized this latest voice. It belonged to Tess.
“Marlee, sweetheart.” This voice was Ryan’s. “Are you awake? We’re all worried about you. Can you say something so we know you’re all right?”
When I opened my eyes this time, I did it in stages. Slowly peeking out from beneath my lashes, I saw Ryan and Tess staring down at me on one side, while a tall woman in a white lab coat stood to my left. They all seemed equally concerned. I also heard the beeping of a monitor and smelled antiseptic. Yes, I was lying in a hospital bed. Except for a moment, I couldn’t remember why. Then, in a flash, I recalled falling into the water.
“My head,” I murmured. “It hurts.”
The woman in the lab coat whipped out a penlight, which she aimed at my eyes. I fought back a sudden wave of nausea. After a few moments, she mercifully shut off the light. “I’m Dr. Sankar. And I’m not surprised your head hurts, Miss Jacob. You’ve suffered a mild concussion, along with several scalp lacerations. Although you were bleeding profusely when EMS arrived, that’s common with such injuries. It often looks worse than it is. We clamped the blood vessels, and subsequent X-rays show no skull fractures. However, you did swallow a great deal of river water. You may feel sick to your stomach for the next twenty-four hours.”
