The Final Vow Page 14

Great. My deer in the headlights expression was recorded for posterity.

  “Are you Kelsey Cambridge, the director of Barton Farm?” The reporter shoved the microphone into my face.

  I stepped back. “Yes. What’s this about?”

  She tilted the microphone back toward her own face. “So you’ve been working on the Pumpernickle-Cambridge wedding with Krissie Pumpernickle.”

  “What—”

  Before I could finish, she said, “It’s seems odd that you have the same last name as the groom. Is he any relation to you?”

  I wasn’t going to answer that on camera. I repeated my question. “What’s all this about? You’re on private property. You have to have permission to film here, which I know that you don’t, since I would be the one who’d grant such permission.”

  The reporter bristled. “I’m just doing my job, Ms. Cambridge. When a lost heiress is murdered, that’s news and our viewers want to hear about it.”

  I blinked at her. “Wait, what? A lost heiress?”

  She beamed as if I’d just given her a new puppy. “You don’t know!” She waved to her camera guy, gesturing for him to zoom in on my face.

  “Know?” I glanced back at Laura, who made a pained expression at me. “Know what?”

  “Vianna Pine was the rightful heiress to the Cherry fortune and the Foundation.”

  I stared at the reporter for a second as what she said to me started to sink in. It took some time, because what she said didn’t compute.

  “There is no heir to the Cherry Foundation,” I said finally, denying it. That was what I knew to be true. Maxwell Cherry, Cynthia’s nephew, had died with no children. He was the only relative Cynthia had. There was no one left to make a claim on the estate, which was why Cynthia’s massive home, all her money and possessions, and the Foundation itself had been left to the board, in a trust. Certainly if there was an heir, he or she would have presented him or herself before now. Cynthia had been gone for almost a year.

  The reporter’s grin grew even wider, as if she had a present for me and couldn’t wait until I opened it. “Vianna was Maxwell Cherry’s illegitimate and secret daughter.”

  That’s when my mouth fell open. I was going to look extra attractive on television with flies zooming in and out of it, but I couldn’t help it. What she’d said sent me reeling and took my breath away.

  “But Cynthia left everything to the Cherry Foundation,” I sputtered.

  “Yes, she did,” the reporter said, seemingly pleased with herself that she’d gotten such a shocked reaction out of me. I guessed that it was better for ratings. “But Miss Cherry’s will clearly states that if she or Maxwell were found to have an heir, that person would inherit everything, including directorship of the Foundation.”

  Maxwell Cherry had a daughter? How was that possible? I, of course, knew how someone had a child, but how come no one knew about it—including Cynthia? When she was alive, she’d begged Maxwell to settle down, get married, and have a family. I knew she would have been happy to learn he’d had a child. She longed for another person in her life that she could take care of. I knew that was partly the reason why she took Hayden and me under her wing when I was freshly divorced and applying for the director job at the Farm. Cynthia had such a big heart. She just wanted to share it, especially with her nephew’s children if he’d had any. And apparently he’d had one all this time and hidden it from his aunt. How could he keep that from her? How could he be so cruel?

  “Can we get a quote from you about this latest development?” the reporter asked.

  I shook my head and refocused my eyes on the camera and the woman in front of me. “No comment.”

  The reporter wouldn’t give up that easily. “Do you know how Vianna’s inheritance would have impacted Barton Farm? If Vianna was alive, it seems you would answer to her instead of the Cherry Foundation board?”

  I stepped away from the reporter. “I know nothing of the kind.”

  “It could have changed everything for the Farm,” the reporter said, still as happy as could be. “It could have changed everything for you personally too. Don’t you live here on the Farm land?” she asked. “Does this make you a suspect in her murder?”

  I stared at her.

  Laura stepped between me and the camera. “Back off, lady.” My best friend used her large size to her advantage and completely blocked me from view. “Kelsey, go inside of the visitor center. I’ll take care of this.”

  The reporter stepped away. “I have a right to ask questions.”

  “No, you don’t,” Laura argued. “Kelsey already told you this is private land, so we’re within our rights to call the police and have them escort you off Barton Farm. I hear Detective Brandon has been wanting to throw someone out of somewhere for a long time. This could finally be her chance.”

  The reporter dropped her microphone to her side. “Fine. Be that way. I think we have enough as it is.” She waved to her camera guy. “Come on, Sam, let’s head back to the station and get this in the can.”

  I watched, still in a half daze, as they climbed into their TV van and drove away. After their tires spun up dust on the gravel lot, my father brushed off his cape and walked over to Laura and me.

  He was beaming. “Kelsey, my girl, it’s so nice to see you.” He gave me a big hug. “I must say the theater troupe is doing beautifully. When will you be able to come out to one of my performances? I have the rest of the week off, but I’ll be back at it come next week.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment. I couldn’t believe he was talking about his acting troupe after what had just happened. Scratch that. I could believe it. I could believe it very well. I was his daughter, after all, and should have come to expect such a reaction.

  “Dad,” I said with a childish whine in my voice. “What were you doing talking to that reporter about Vianna Pine?”

  He smoothed his velvet cape over his shoulders. “My dear, I knew nothing about it. I just arrived from my last showing, drove all night to be with you and Hayden. When I arrived, the reporter was just exiting her van and asked who I was and wanted a quote. Of course, I naturally assumed she’d heard about my great performance in Circleville, Ohio, as Hamlet’s father’s ghost. It wasn’t until the camera was in my face that I realized she was actually wanting to ask about you and the Farm.” He frowned. “If you’d texted me to say that yet another person had gotten killed on the grounds, I might have been better prepared for her questions.”

  He smoothed his cape over the opposite shoulder. I didn’t know how he could wear that heavy thing—the temperature had to be in the eighties.

  I glanced at Laura. “Why didn’t you intervene?”

  She held up her hands. “I was about to when you jumped out of your car like your tail was on fire. I knew I’d better tell you what was going on before you clocked one of the reporters.”

  “I don’t hit,” I said defensively.

  Laura frowned. “I remember a couple of wallops you’ve given me over the years.”

  “Yeah.” I folded my arms across my chest. “When we were kids. I haven’t hit you since fifth grade.”

  “There was that one time in college …” She trailed off. “Besides, who scared them off at the end there?”

  I sighed. “Thank you for that. Do we know if what she said was true? Has anyone called the Foundation to confirm this?”

  “Don’t know.” Laura shook her head. “But there really is no reason to doubt the news. They check their facts. Someone must know for sure. The police, maybe …”

  “And Henry Ratcliffe,” I said. Even as I spoke his name, I wondered how long Henry had known. As the leader of the Foundation’s board, he would have been the first to be notified that an heir had been discovered, and I knew he wouldn’t be happy about it. This news would impact Henry just as much as it impacted me. If I was a murder suspect, then so was Hen
ry Ratcliffe, times ten.

  twenty

  Two family vans pulled up, and kids and parents piled out. I was happy the news van had left before they arrived. The Farm didn’t need any more bad publicity.

  A little boy pointed at my father. “Look, Mommy, that old man has a cape. I want a cape!”

  My father waved his cape back and forth, Batman style. The kids cheered and the parents smiled. I suppressed a smile of my own. Despite my father’s misguided decisions about what to say to the press and his odd fashion sense, he was great with kids, which was why I was grateful to have him around in the summer to help out with Hayden.

  I placed a hand on my father’s arm. “Okay, Zorro, let’s go inside and do some damage control.”

  My father bent at the waist and wrapped his cape around his body, cocoon style. The kids cheered again. Laura had to physically frog-march him through the sliding glass doors into the visitor center.

  Judy met us at the door and handed me my radio back. “I’m glad to be rid of that. It’s been wild since you left. It seems that you-know-what has hit the fan.”

  Laura raised her eyebrows and grinned. “I have no idea what you-know-what is, Judy. Maybe you should just come out and say it.”

  I hooked the radio back onto my jeans. I was happy to have it back. It was my security blanket. Right up there with the little notebook that I always carried in the back pocket of my jeans to jot down notes and ideas about how to improve the Farm. If Vianna had taken control of the Farm, would I have been able to do that anymore? Vianna’s inheritance would have had a big impact on me, and it did give me a motive for murder.

  I pushed the unpleasant thoughts from my head. “What’s wrong, Judy? The reporter who was outside?”

  She patted the bun on the back of her head as if to make sure that it was still there. “That’s a start,” she said. “I saw them, and I would have come out and told them to vamoose, but I was running interference inside here.”

  “What do you mean?” Laura asked.

  “Mom!” Hayden called. He ran toward me full-tilt from the gift shop, but then he saw his grandfather. “Pop!” he cried, taking a sharp turn away from me to run into my father’s waiting arms. Dad wrapped his cape around him and Hayden disappeared from sight. The only indication that my son was wrapped in the cape was his muffled giggles.

  “Dad, can you take Hayden back to the cottage? You guys can hang out and have lunch. You haven’t been able to spend as much time with each other this summer,” I said.

  My father looked up at me.

  I gave him a pleading look, and he nodded. “Of course, of course. Hayden and I need to catch up. He can tell me all about Frankie’s latest crimes and other goings-on at the Farm while I’ve been away.”

  “Grandpop,” Hayden said. “We have attack chickens now!”

  “You don’t say,” my father murmured, as if something like that was to be expected on Farm grounds. I was afraid that it might actually be the case.

  And that reminded me—Krissie had requested that the chickens be removed for the wedding. I’d forgotten that little tidbit. I hoped she’d forgotten it too, but I severely doubted it.

  Dad released Hayden from his cape. “Come along, young squire. After you tell me about the fearsome chickens, it’s time that I taught you the ways of Shakespeare. We’ll start with The Tempest, as it’s your mother’s favorite.” He winked at me over Hayden’s head.

  Hayden cocked his head. “That’s the one that starts with a shipwreck, right?”

  Dad put a hand on his chest. “You know so much already. Let us be off!” With a flourish of his cape he ushered Hayden to the doors leading out onto the Farm grounds.

  They had almost reached them when Hayden turned around and ran toward me. He wrapped his arms around my hips. “Love you!” Then he turned and skipped off to join his grandfather outside the visitor center. Tiffin was waiting at the door and met his two favorite guys, and then the trio made their way up the pebbled path.

  At least one aspect of my life was in order, and it was the most important part.

  After they’d gone, I ushered Laura and Judy to a corner of the visitor center. The families I’d seen in the parking lot were at the ticket booth purchasing tickets. I didn’t want them to overhear our conversation.

  When we were safely out of earshot, I turned to Judy. “Okay, what do you mean by ‘running interference’?”

  Judy shook her head. “That reporter outside—that won’t be the last one by a long shot. It seems the news about Vianna being Cynthia’s rightful heir broke a while ago, and I’ve been fielding phone calls asking for a quote since the moment you left.” She eyed me. “Did you know that Vianna was supposed to inherit the Cherry Foundation?”

  I rubbed my forehead. I could feel a headache forming just behind my temple. “I had no idea. The first I heard about it was from that reporter outside. Do you think there will be more calls about this?”

  As if on cue, the phone rang.

  “Reporters,” Judy said, as if uttering some sort of curse.

  “What did you say when you answered the phone?” I asked.

  She sniffed. “‘No comment,’ of course. I know better than to talk to the press.”

  I wished that my father did too. “Why didn’t you call me to give me a heads up?” I turned to Laura. “Or why didn’t you?”

  Laura raised her hands in surrender. “I didn’t know anything until I went outside and heard what the reporter was saying. Then you drove up.”

  Judy smoothed a wrinkle out of her khaki skirt. “And I was too busy dealing with the onslaught of phone calls to call you.”

  I held up my hand. “I understand. I’m not blaming either of you. Detective Brandon and Henry Ratcliffe are another story. They both must have known. They could have at least warned me.”

  Laura cocked her head. “What are you going to do now?”

  I removed my cell phone from my pocket. “Let me call Detective Brandon and get to the bottom of this. Please keep answering the phone in case it’s a visitor with a legitimate question. If it’s a reporter, just say ‘no comment’ and hang up, as you’ve been doing.”

  “You don’t need to call her,” Laura said. “She’s over in the village. I saw her walking around there just before I found your dad with the reporter.”

  I frowned. I’d thought Brandon was done with the crime scene. Something must be up if she was back on Farm grounds and following up more leads.

  “I’ll go talk to her now,” I said.

  Laura grabbed my arm. “Have you eaten anything today?”

  I tried to remember.

  “Thought so,” Laura said. “At least stop by the snack bar on your way out and grab some semblance of a lunch.”

  “I’ll grab something after I speak to the detective.” I was about to head out onto the grounds when Benji ran through the doors of the visitor center. She looked around and finally saw the three of us in the corner.

  “Kelsey!” she gasped. “Did you hear?” She took a breath and then glanced behind her, at a family taking in some of the black and white photography of the Farm from years gone by.

  “I have heard,” I said. “I was just about to head to the village to talk to Brandon about it. Want to come with me?”

  She grabbed her replacement radio from the sales counter and hooked it to her belt. “You bet. I’m with you.”

  I found myself smiling as we walked out onto the grounds.

  We’d almost reached Maple Grove Lane before I asked, “How’s Piper?”

  Benji kicked a stone with the toe of her red Doc Marten. “She’s better. Being interviewed by the police this morning really shook her up.”

  “Because she’s been to jail before?” I asked as we reached the road.

  Benji looked away from me, toward the north, as if she didn’t want me to see h
er expression.

  “Benji, why did she go to jail?” I had to know.

  She scuffed the toe of her shoe on the road as we crossed. “I don’t know.”

  I stopped in the middle of the street. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  Benji grabbed my arm and pulled me to the other side. “You can’t stop in the middle of the street like that.”

  “Hardly anyone drives down this road,” I grumbled. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

  Benji released my arm. “I don’t know because I promised her that I wouldn’t ask.”

  “When did you promise her that? Recently? Since Vianna died?” I asked my questions in rapid succession.

  Benji scrunched up her face as if it pained her to answer. “No. Before.”

  “When?” I asked.

  Benji shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I frowned. “Benji, you asked me to help Piper. How am I supposed to do that when I don’t have all the facts?”

  The church came into view, and I could see Detective Brandon standing in front of it with her hands on her hips. Her head was tilted back as she stared up at the broken window in the steeple.

  “Where’s Piper now?” I asked before we reached the church.

  Benji wrinkled her nose. “With Krissie.”

  I grimaced. “She is?”

  “Yeah. Since Piper was working with Vianna on the wedding, it makes sense for her to take over from here. I know she’s nervous about it, but if the wedding goes well, this could start her career. She may not have to intern any more. She can start a wedding planning business of her own, or find a job at one the big agencies in Cleveland. She can start paying back her student loans and maybe we could even go on a vacation.”

  I kicked a stone of my own. “I wouldn’t mention anything about how Vianna’s death could help Piper get ahead in her own career, to the police or to anyone else.”

  Benji stopped. “Why not? Oh!” she said as it dawned on her. “That might give her a reason to kill Vianna.”

  I nodded. Armin had perceived this motive just a few hours earlier.