Thirty-Six

We snuck out the forbidden balcony door at the same moment the congregation began streaming out of the chapel. The lobby had been crowded when we came in. Now, however, the solemn mob was on the move, sweeping everyone along like a cleansing wave as it headed for the community room and coffee cake.

I stood on tippy-toes and craned my neck, attempting to find Erik’s face in the crowd. I had no luck, but I did spot Giff, Tay, and Hannah. “Over that way,” I told Carleton, still pulling him along, and realized too late that I was still holding his hand.

“Hey,” Hannah said by way of greeting. Her smile faded the moment her eyes dropped to our entwined hands. Immediately I let go.

“Can’t have Carleton getting swept away in the crowd now, can we?” Giff was quick to add, shooting both Carleton and me a reprimanding look.

“No,” I replied. “St. Paul’s has never seen such a turnout. I was afraid Carleton would be trampled by a coffee cake stampede. I’ve heard it can happen. By the way, have any of you seen Erik Larson?”

“Holy Mother of Mischief!” Tay cried, nearly coming to a stop. “No. No I haven’t,” she said, regaining her place in the surging crowd. “I knew something seemed odd, but I couldn’t place my finger on it.”

Hannah, momentarily forgetting her jealousy, added, “Erik worked with Jeb! He’s Cody’s best friend! He should be here!”

“Do we know if anyone’s seen him since he disappeared yesterday, during the wine and cheese tasting?” I asked.

The blank looks, the utter silence, did not bode well.

The moment we entered the community room, I caught sight of my parents. They were standing with Jeb Carlson’s family, talking. At times like these there were no words that could bring comfort, and whatever Dad was saying, I could tell, fell short of the mark. Jeb Carlson’s son refused to shake his proffered hand. Then the words “irresponsible,” “money-grubbing capitalist,” and “lawsuit” rang out, filling the room.

“Holy cobbler!” I uttered under my breath. I was about to jump to my parents’ aid when Tay and Hannah blocked me. Carleton took the hint and steered me toward the refreshment table at the other end of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “but you must have expected that people would be angry. That man’s father was murdered on your father’s cherry orchard. Their son,” he began, gesturing toward the Rivers family, “was nearly murdered as well. Tensions are running high, and understandably so. Nothing anyone could say now would be of help. Best let the storm blow over.”

“Blow over? I was in advertising, Carleton. A storm this size doesn’t just blow over without a healthy dose of damage control.”

“Damage control?” he said, and for the first time the sparkle left his compelling aqua eyes. “Death, scandal, lawsuits, costly repairs—this, Whitney, will be the end of your family’s cherry orchard and inn, I’m afraid.”

“My God. My God,” I uttered, feeling my stomach drop to my knees. “Isn’t there anything we can do? You’re a successful businessman, Carleton. You must deal with things like this all the time. There has to be something we can do to help my parents and save their business.”

Carleton studied my face. “I’ve had my share of challenges, and what I’ve learned is that a wise businessman knows when to cut loose a sinking asset before he’s dragged to the bottom with it. I know you don’t want to hear it, but this is a sinking asset, my dear. There’s no kinder way I can put it. Unfortunately, it also happens to be the lifeblood of your family. Be prepared, Whitney—when the Cherry Orchard Inn goes down, the Blooms will go down with it.”

His words hurt more than a knife to the heart, but there was some truth in it. I looked at my parents, my heart pounding double time. The Rivers family had joined the group, and the anger was compounding. “You may be right,” I told him. “But the Blooms won’t go down without a fight.”

∞

It took a while to defuse the anger of the grieving parties, but with the help of friends, we did it. Fortunately the Blooms had more friends in the room than enemies, including Reverend Dahl and Dr. Engle, both influential men in the village. Between them they managed to bring back order. Dr. Engle even reminded everyone that this was a memorial service. “No one can bring your loved ones back,” he told the crowd, “But what we can do is to help the authorities find the person responsible for these tragedies and bring him to justice. That’s what we should be focusing on, not pointing fingers.”

Yes, I thought. Good. Bring the focus back to the problem at hand. Find the murderer!

“Here,” Giff said, coming up to us and handing me a tiny paper plate weighted down by a lumpy scone. “That’s all that’s left. Just those. Clearly they weren’t up to par with the quality of the other baked goods, but hey, how bad can they be?” He winked, then picked up the scone on his own plate. He was just about to take a bite when Carleton knocked it out of his hand.

“Don’t eat that! That’s one of the nasty things I ate this morning, and I’m still suffering for it.”

“Lori Larson!” I cried, remembering the connection between the scone and the baker. I scanned the room. I hadn’t seen her son, but if Lori’s scones were here, there was a pretty good chance she was too. I was just about to search the crowded room when my phone rang. It was Jack.

“Whit. Are you at the church? Good. Listen. I need you to find Erik Larson. Is he there?” At the sound of the name, I inhaled sharply. It was a little spooky that Jack was asking after the same person I happened to be looking for.

“No,” I said, “but Lori’s here. Why?” I had a sinking feeling that I already knew the answer.

“Christ!” Jack swore under his breath. “I’m sorry to have to break this to you over the phone, but I think you should know. I’m still at the police station in Sturgeon Bay with Tate. During the questioning, he revealed that Erik Larson and Cody Rivers were the ones taking his boats. I’m not sure what else he knows, but the boys definitely knew something. Look, I know these kids too, and they’re not murderers. If someone tried to kill Cody, it stands to reason that Erik is in danger as well. We need to find him, Whit. Quickly! He’s not answering his cell phone.”

In one lurching beat all the blood drained from my heart. “Right,” I said, fighting to remain calm. “Got it. What does Lori Larson look like?” I roamed the room as Jack described the woman I was after. I found a person who fit the description standing in a far corner with a small group of middle-aged ladies. “Excuse me,” I said, breaking in on their conversation. “Mrs. Larson?”

The woman stopped talking and stared at me.

“My name is Whitney Bloom and I’m looking for your son, Erik. Do you know where he is?”

“I know who you are,” Lori said curtly, glaring. “Why ya looking for my son?”

I could have told her, yet under the circumstances I felt it best she hear the news from Jack. I handed her my phone. “Officer Mac­Laren is on the other end. He’ll explain it to you.”

With visible trepidation Lori took the phone and held it to her ear. The moment she did, the fair skin beneath the heavy sheen of makeup turned the color of ash. “No,” she breathed, “Oh no. Please, God, no … ”

“Lori. What is it? What’s going on?” The women in her circle were stricken with concern.

“It’s Officer MacLaren,” she told them, handing back my phone. “He’s been trying to get ahold of Erik. He believes my son is in grave danger.”