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  Briggs approached me with some caution, as if I might turn around and snap at him or run off like a rabbit from a fox. His brown eyes landed on my face. There was a second of emotion there which I quickly shut down with my stony all-business face.

  "I have a theory about the time of death," I said.

  "Actually, Nate has already put the time of death somewhere between seven and nine tonight. I checked with the pyrotechnic people. They said the show started at 8:45 and ended at 9:15. Since the place was crowded and no one heard a gunshot, we can only assume Ms. Ripley was killed during the show." He had put on his dry, detective tone, and I was regretting my coldness. Then I reminded myself he deserved it. "What was your theory?"

  My shoulders deflated. "Exactly that. A gunshot would have been easily camouflaged by the loud firework display."

  Briggs looked around and then down at his notepad. It seemed he preferred to look anywhere but at me. "No weapon yet. But since we can assume the murder happened during the show, it'll be easier to narrow down alibis. We need to find out where people were during the show. You mentioned you smelled cinnamon on the victim. If you don't mind, I'd like to have you come along for the interviews just to see if you can pick up the similar scent."

  "I don't mind at all, Detective Briggs," I said primly.

  He flinched at my tone, then turned to me. "Lacey, we should talk."

  "In the middle of an investigation? Hardly. We'd better hurry, people are heading home. We might miss our opportunity." I could feel his gaze on my back as I walked purposefully toward the pier.

  Chapter 21

  My brush off of a talk with Briggs seemed to have put him in a tense mood, rare for him. Most of the time he managed to stay cool and smooth as cream, no matter what the situation. Apparently, having the lovely Olivia the X in town was making him uptight.

  I spotted Molly's sparkly hat in the distance and picked up my pace.

  "Miss Pinkerton, wait for me." I was used to him referring to me as Miss Pinkerton when we were investigating a murder but somehow, tonight, it just sounded wrong. It might have been the edge of tension in his voice. He caught up to me.

  "Is that Molly in the hat?" he asked as we both kept picking up speed as if we were in some kind of walking race.

  "Yes, it is. Kate Yardley sold both Jenny and Molly the same hat. She also told each of them the hats were one of a kind." I normally wouldn't have added that. It seemed I was mad and I was taking it out on Kate. Not that she didn't deserve it this round.

  Molly was standing in front of the salt water taffy stand helping the woman behind the booth return taffy to the appropriate containers. It might have been my imagination or it might have been the lighting on the pier, but it seemed Molly's face paled when she saw us. She knew we were coming to talk to her.

  Molly tossed a bowl of strawberry taffy into the container and turned to greet us with a mournful sigh. "I just can't believe it, Lacey," she spoke directly to me and hugged me. I was sure it was on purpose to let Briggs know she saw no reason to talk to the police. As she pulled away, I smelled something sweet, like vanilla. There might have been a touch of cinnamon in there too, but it was mostly an artificially sweet vanilla scent. It could have been from taffy.

  "Ms. Brookhauser," Briggs began, "if you don't mind, I'd' like to ask you a few questions."

  Molly looked properly shocked and perplexed as she glanced at the woman behind the taffy stand. The other woman was short with hair that matched the color of the lemonade flavored taffy. I'd seen her several times in town and was fairly certain her name was Rachel.

  "I can't imagine how I could be of any help," Molly said after her small act had ended. "But ask away."

  Briggs pulled out his notebook and got his pen ready.

  "Poor Jenny," Molly said with a shake of her head. "She worked all those years and was finally enjoying her retirement and then bang. Dead with one shot."

  Briggs' gaze caught mine. We might have hit a rough spot socially, but we were still in tune during the investigation. Molly was hardly acting like the truly devastated friend. And she knew that Jenny had been shot once.

  "May I ask how you knew Ms. Ripley was shot once?" Briggs took the words right out of my mouth.

  Molly wasted no time with her answer. "Why, everyone knows. Jodie Terrence has been retelling the horrible moment when she found Jenny all over the marina. She said there was a hole in Jenny's back. What else could that be except a gunshot? I guess there was too much noise tonight for anyone to hear. Poor, poor Jenny. You should talk to that neighbor of hers, Percy Troy. They had a big dust up about that darn wall and the property line. Percy was madder than a rabid raccoon about having to build the wall and lose three feet of property to boot."

  It never made you look less guilty if you immediately started dropping names and possible suspects. I knew Briggs was thinking the same thing. I wondered who thought of it first though. Not that it was a competition. He was, after all, the professional, and I was just a talented snoop and sniffer. But I liked to think I was becoming more in tune with my sleuth side every day.

  "Ms. Brookhauser," Briggs continued after jotting down a few notes. I always loved watching him with his rather last century tools of the trade, paper and pen. But tonight, it was hard to think he looked adorable with his notepad. I was still too upset. "Where were you during the fireworks show?" he asked.

  Molly looked right back at her taffy friend. "Why, I was right here the entire show. Rachel and I watched the display from the taffy stand. She can vouch for me."

  "Full name please," Briggs requested from Rachel.

  "Rachel Holder, you know me, Detective Briggs. My nephew, Louie, played football with you in high school."

  Briggs nodded. "Yes, Louie Holder. How's he doing?" It was unusual for Briggs to get sidetracked during an interview but everything about him seemed off tonight.

  "He's great. He is an optometrist in Wisconsin. Has three kids."

  Briggs nearly dropped his pen when she said three kids. "Wow, three. Well, good for him. Mrs. Holder, can you verify that Molly was with you during the entire fireworks show?"

  Rachel nodded. "Yes, I can. We both sat right here and watched the whole thing from the taffy booth."

  "Did either of you leave the booth at any point during the show?"

  Rachel shook her head. "Nope. We were here the whole time."

  "Thank you. Oh, one more thing, Mrs. Holder. How are you and Molly acquainted?"

  "We used to work together at Parson's Grocery Store in Mayfield," Molly piped up.

  Briggs looked at Rachel for confirmation. "Yep. She was in deli and I was in produce. We've stayed good friends for years."

  Briggs wrote a few things down. Molly glanced my direction and suddenly seemed put off by my presence. "Lacey, I've heard you often work alongside Detective Briggs. Interesting to see it for myself." There was just enough insinuation in her tone to make me stiffen.

  I forced a grin. "Yes, thank you. By the way, why weren't you at the garden club booth during the show? I noticed you were on the schedule. You left Jenny there all night." I didn't know Molly well, but the few interactions I'd had or witnessed left me thinking we'd never be friends.

  "I know. I felt bad about that. But Rachel needed help. Taffy is a much more popular product than herbs." Her mouth pursed as if my herbs were somehow humorous.

  "Thank you." Briggs stepped in to stop the slightly heated exchange. "I might need to ask you more questions later."

  I forced a polite nod and we walked away.

  "One thing is certain—" Briggs said. "Molly is not terribly upset over the loss of her friend."

  "You noticed that too?"

  Chapter 22

  Detective Briggs and I asked around and were told that Carla Stapleton and her husband, Vernon, were at the pie contest table helping clean up. I quickly filled Briggs in on the few things I knew about Carla on our way to the pie table.

  "I've only recently become acquainted with Carla
. She is a member of the garden club. At the last meeting, Molly was extremely unpleasant to Carla, rolling her eyes about her slow reading of the minutes. Carla has bad eyesight. Molly also let everyone know that Carla had replanted nursery bought dahlias in her garden instead of growing them from tubers. But Jenny came immediately to Carla's defense. I can't imagine why Carla would kill her, even if Vernon prefers Jenny's picnic basket to Carla's."

  "That's right. You mentioned the fried chicken problem when we were eating our picnic." Both of us fell silent for a moment.

  "Lacey," he said quietly.

  "Not now, Detective Briggs. They are packing up the pies, and I just remembered I want to taste a few of the samples." I hurried ahead. "Carla, hold on."

  Vernon stepped out from behind Carla as I reached the table. "Oh, hello, Vernon, I didn't see you there." I wanted to erase my comment immediately.

  "I'm sure you heard, Lacey," Carla said. "The pie contest was cancelled. Of course." She pulled a tissue out from her pocket and blew her nose. It was red from crying. She was visibly shaken. "I still can't believe it."

  "It is terrible," I said and then quickly picked up a sample of pie. Everyone at the table, Briggs included, raised brows at me.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just I tend to get very hungry when I'm upset." I shot a secret wink at Briggs to let him know I was looking for something specific. Namely, did Molly actually enter a bakery pie?

  The pies were labeled with letters. I picked up the slice of apple pie because I knew it would contain cinnamon. Fortunately, Carla supplied me with the baker's name. "That one is Molly's. Mine is the lemon. Frankly, I'm not disappointed that the contest was cancelled because Molly's pie wins every year."

  Vernon stepped forward. I knew Briggs was confused by the size difference. They were quite the odd pair standing side by side but then what law ever stated that the husband had to be bigger in stature than the wife.

  "Dear, I've told you again and again not to even enter the contest. All it does is upset you," Vernon said. He rolled his eyes toward Briggs in a 'women, am I right' sort of way. Briggs smartly did not show reaction.

  Briggs held up his notebook. "Mrs. Stapleton, where were you during the fireworks show?"

  Carla seemed perplexed by the question. "Down on Pickford Beach with the rest of the town watching the show of course."

  "Did you sit with anyone in particular? Someone who could verify that you were there?"

  Vernon lifted his shoulders to make his chest bigger. "Not sure what this is about or what you're implying, Detective Briggs," he said sharply.

  The cool, calm Briggs had snuck back in when I wasn't looking. "I need to verify her whereabouts during the murder."

  "Like some sort of alibi?" Carla asked with wide nostrils.

  "Yes, if that's what you want to call it," Briggs countered smoothly.

  Vernon took hold of Carla's hand. His wife's hand was much larger. "Carla was sitting with me through the entire show."

  Briggs wrote down a few things, which seemed to irritate the couple. Carla's height put her at an advantage. She stretched her neck up to see what he was writing, but Briggs was skilled at keeping his notebook out of view.

  I took the opportunity to taste Molly's apple pie. Flaky crust stuffed full with tender, sweet apple slices. And plenty of cinnamon. I lifted the next forkful closer to my nose before taking the bite. Vanilla was less obvious than the cinnamon but that made sense. The pie was dotted with plump currants that gave an extra kick at the end of the bite. With as many pies as I'd eaten in my life, I wasn't skilled enough to tell whether it was home baked or from a bakery. What I did know for certain—it was not one of Elsie's pies. Cheating was one thing but being brazen enough to enter one of Elsie's pies in the contest would be a whole other level of impudence.

  "Is there anyone else who could verify that you were sitting on the beach for the fireworks show?" Briggs asked. "Other than your husband, I mean."

  Carla nostrils were still spread wide with exasperation. "Yes, as a matter of fact two people can verify my story. My neighbors Tom and Sarah Hopper. Now, if that's all, I need to get this cleaned up."

  "Yes, thank you. Oh, one quick question though. When did you last see Jenny Ripley?"

  Carla crossed her arms and glowered down at Vernon.

  "I ate the picnic dinner with her yesterday," Vernon volunteered easily. "It was delicious too. We talked about this and that, her retirement, the problem with her neighbor, Percy Troy." Vernon's eye rounded. "That's who you should talk to. Percy Troy."

  "Yes, I've made a note of that. Is he around?" Briggs asked.

  "I don't think I've ever seen Percy show up for the Fourth of July festivities," Carla said. "He's somewhat of a recluse. Of course, he might still have been here sometime this evening," she said pointedly.

  The conversation had ended, but I was working on figuring out all the ingredients in the pie by smell. I took another bite and looked up to find all eyes on me. Including a certain detective's amused brown ones.

  "Sorry. " I put the remainder of the pie in the trash can. "Like I said, I get hungry when I'm upset." I eyed Carla's pie. "Do you happen to use cinnamon in your pie, Carla?"

  She laughed. She'd been upset about the murder but not terribly upset, it seemed. "Cinnamon in lemon pie?" She laughed again.

  "I suppose that would be strange."

  "Thank you for your time," Briggs said. He flipped his notebook closed and we walked away.

  "Did the pie tell you anything or were you really just hungry?" he asked.

  "Maybe a little of both. Molly's pie does have cinnamon, the scent I picked up on Jenny's hands. I know the contest was a source of contention between Molly and Carla. I also know that Jenny was planning to confront Molly about the possibility that she was cheating by entering a bakery pie."

  Briggs looked over at me. "Elsie's apple pie?"

  "Please, no one would be that silly. There are bakery pies and then there are Elsie's pies. They are a whole different species of pie."

  "Good point." We reached Officer Chinmoor. He had just finished combing the area for evidence.

  "Any luck with that weapon?" Briggs asked.

  Chinmoor smiled. "No weapon but we found the bullet shell." He held up the baggie.

  Briggs took it in his hand and examined it with the light from his phone. "Never seen a shell like this. We'll get forensics to work on it. In the meantime, make sure the site is cleared of spectators for the night."

  I caught a yawn before it rolled from my mouth. "If you don't need me anymore, I think I'll head home."

  Briggs looked around. "How are you getting home? Do you need a ride?"

  "Nope. I just saw Lola and Ryder walking across to the Town Square. They'll drop me at home."

  Briggs momentarily broke eye contact to hide his disappointment. He lifted his face again. "Thank you for your help, Miss Pinkerton."

  "Anytime, Detective Briggs." I was certain I could feel his gaze on me as I walked away. At least I hoped he was still looking.

  Chapter 23

  Dad was up early eating the egg sandwich my mom prepared for him. He was as excited as a kid waiting to go to an amusement park. Something told me going fishing with Les would be the highlight of his vacation.

  Nevermore curled around my feet as I poured food into his bowl. Dad looked over his sandwich at me. "That bird wants to fly around today."

  I laughed. "Did he tell you that?"

  "Nope. I can just tell. He's antsy."

  I glanced across the room to Kingston's cage. He was nibbling on the peanut in his dish, looking anything but antsy. But Dad was right. He needed to get out.

  "I've got to go outside and check air quality. Make sure there's not too much smoke."

  Mom walked out from the guest bedroom and set her bottle of sun block on the table next to Dad's arm. "Lather this on or else you'll get even more wrinkles."

  Dad peered sideways at the bottle. "Now all I can smell is that darn sun block.
This egg sandwich tastes funny now. And who says I don't want wrinkles? I think they make me look distinguished."

  "No, they make you look like a prune," Mom quipped. "Lacey, what should we do today while your father is out fishing?"

  I picked up a plate with eggs and toast. "I've got to go into work for a few hours. But I'm closing early, by lunch. We could head over to Mayfield. You said you wanted to do some shopping."

  "Yes, that sounds good. Then I'll just stay here for the morning and read my book. It'll be nice and relaxing after last night with the noise and the murder and all."

  Dad chuckled. "Not exactly your run of the mill Fourth of July celebration. I mean talk about ending with a bang."

  "Stanley," Mom said sharply. "It's hardly a laughing matter."

  Dad nodded. "Yes, sorry. Did they find the killer?"

  I didn't sit to eat, which earned an eye roll from Mom. "Not quite that easy, Dad. The perpetrator doesn't usually step forward at the crime scene and say 'it was me'. Unfortunately, the few people we interviewed last night, women who I knew had a beef with Jenny, the dead woman, had solid alibis. We've concluded the murder happened during the thirty minute fireworks show because the noise masked the gunshot."

  "Makes sense." Dad picked up his coffee. "Any other leads?"

  "Not yet but they found the bullet shell. I'm sure that will produce something."

  I rinsed my plate and finished my coffee. Kingston became animated when he saw me pick up my backpack. "That's right. Let me check the air." I walked out onto the front porch. The coastal breeze had pushed most of the lingering smoke inland. The sky was crystal blue with only a touch of the acrid taste of smoke in the air. I went back inside. "You're in luck, King. You can fly along with me as I bike to town."

  Mom sat at the table with a plate of eggs. "So, you're off and Dad is leaving and Kingston." She looked at Nevermore who had stretched himself out on the floor to lick his paws. "Guess it's just me and the cat."