Eight

I was still trying to process Jack’s ominous words when we pulled into the parking lot of Door County General, a modest though relatively modern hospital of twenty-five beds. The sight of the hospital made my stomach moan out loud, protesting the morgue before my brain had the chance to … or maybe it was the heavenly scent of Grandma Jenn’s cherry pie wafting from the back seat. I’d been smelling it for the last half hour. Suddenly I realized how hungry I was.

Jack, hearing the cry from my protesting stomach, had taken hold of the bakery box like a wide receiver, protecting it like the game ball. He gave me a large evidence bag containing Dad’s croquet mallet to carry instead.

“I forgot to ask,” he began as we stepped onto the elevator. He pressed a button. The doors closed and the elevator descended. “You’ve seen a dead body before, right?” He shifted the bakery box to his other arm—the one farthest from me—and held me in a questioning gaze.

“Yes. Of course,” I lied, and felt compelled to add, “Chicago’s full of ’em.”

It was not the answer he’d been expecting. A curious smile touched his lips and he said, “Okay. Well then, I don’t need to warn you about … ” The door opened and he stepped out, stopping in mid-sentence. I was waiting for him to finish his thought, to finish his warning, but he didn’t, because just then Doc Fisker popped out of a doorway halfway down the basement hall. He spied us as we came out of the elevator, paused to shove the remains of what looked to be a Danish into his mouth, and wiped his hands on his lab coat.

“Oh, hey there, Officer MacLaren!” Doc Fisker waved as he ambled toward us, a wide smile lighting up his face. He was a heavy-set man in his late sixties, with a pouf of white hair on his head and eyes as round and inquisitive as an owl’s. His thick glasses made them look even larger, which was always a bit disconcerting at first. “And is that Miss Bloom I see? Oh, fer heaven’s sake! I haven’t seen you around these parts in an age.” He shook Jack’s hand, then embraced me in an avuncular hug. Stepping away, he said to me, “I suppose you’re tagging along because of that mess up there at you orchard, eh?”

In answer to his question, I held up the bag containing Dad’s croquet mallet.

“So that’s the culprit! Would’ve been nice to have had that right when the body came in.” Doc Fisker turned to Jack and, lowering his voice, continued. “I know Baxter’s a bit of a hot head on a golf course, but I’ve never heard of croquet inciting such rage. Were they playing for money, by chance?”

The question took Jack by surprise. “This isn’t the result of croquet, Doc.”

“Really? That’s surprising. Because everyone around these parts knows that’s Baxter’s prized croquet mallet.”

“Indeed. So why would Baxter leave it next to the body? That, dear doctor, is why we’re here.”

“Oh, a mystery! I do so love a mystery. I find there’s always a rather mysterious element hanging around that old orchard. Why, I was up there earlier this spring and do you know what I saw? Jeb had those girls—Jenn, Jani, the Robinson girl, and a few of the younger waitresses—dressed in flowing white gowns with flowered wreaths in their hair, holding hands and dancing around the budding trees. Was suspiciously pagan. When I asked him about it, he said … ” At that very moment, Doc Fisker caught a whiff of the pie in Jack’s hands. The temptation was too strong. He didn’t even have the willpower to fight through to the end of his own sentence. Instead he turned to Jack and rested his magnified blue orbs on the bakery box in nearly the same manner I had. And he’d just polished off a Danish!

“Oh, MacLaren, you wily devil. You’ve brought me one of Jenn’s pies.”

“Only the best for you, Doc. Fresh from the ovens of the Cherry Orchard Inn.” Jack held the box up to his own nose and took a theatric whiff. “A legendary pie made from the cherries grown in Miss Bloom’s own family orchard. It’s what put Cherry Cove on the map.”

“You’re a shameless rascal, MacLaren. Forcing an old man to work on a Saturday … and on a fool’s errand ta boot!” But even as the doctor spoke, he couldn’t help grinning.

“There you go again, Doc, confusing shameless with appreciative.” There was a twinkle in Jack’s honey-colored eyes as he said this. “And if you must know, Miss Bloom and I don’t believe that her father had anything to do with the murder of Jeb Carlson.”

A troubled look crossed Doc Fisker’s normally pleasant face. “Then ya better brace yourselves, my dears, because it looks a pretty convincing case to me. But don’t take my word for it. I’m only the county coroner around these parts. Very well, MacLaren, Miss Bloom, if you insist. Let us pull on some gloves, unwrap the body, and do a little pokin’ around, shall we?”