Tulips and Trouble Page 12

  "The flea market painting with the mountain lupines was sitting right here." I tapped the dresser.

  "Yes, I remember." He walked forward and stooped to pick up the business card from the auction house. "It seems the thief brushed this off the dresser in their hurry to run off with the painting." He read the card. "Joseph Morgan, auctioneer," Briggs read. "I wonder if he's related to Darren Morgan." He pulled out his notebook and pushed the card inside. "Didn't you say that Jodie Dean was interested in that painting?"

  "Yes, Letty thought it might be worth something, but Jodie dismissed the idea. Later that day, Jodie came back looking for it, but Letty had already bought it."

  "Interesting." He looked around. "Well, I think we're done here. I'll file a report on the vandalism in the house. I'll keep the spare key at the station. If someone needs to get into the house, they'll have to come to me first."

  We walked out the front door.

  "All in all, a successful afternoon, eh, partner?" I asked.

  "Not bad. But it'll be more successful when we find the killer."

  Chapter 25

  The morning and early afternoon had come and gone quickly. Ryder had taken the morning off for his mom's birthday. He had treated her to breakfast and shopping. In the meantime, every person within a fifty mile radius had decided it was a great day to order or buy flowers. The final flurry of customers had slowed an hour before Ryder arrived.

  "Busy day, boss?" he asked.

  I showcased the extreme clutter and mess on the island with a wave of my arm. "Either that, or a hurricane moved through this morning, leaving this disaster behind." I patted a stack of new orders. "Boss lady did good today. And I already ordered the extra blooms we need to fill the new orders. I'm not sure what happened, but apparently everyone within driving distance of Port Danby woke up deciding they needed flowers. Not that I'm complaining. How was your mom's special day? I wish you would have just taken the entire day, then you wouldn't have had to rush back."

  "That's all right. I need the hours anyhow. I let my mom pick her gift." He moved his head side to side. "Let's just say a lot of my past birthday gifts never left the hanger or box. Some even mysteriously found their way back to the store. So I told her I'd take her out to pick her own gift. I had no idea purses were so expensive."

  "They are kind of ridiculous."

  "Ridiculous? I swear one shop offered low interest financing for their designer handbags. Women take out loans to buy something that is meant to hold their money. I'd say that's a hair past ridiculous. But she was happy, and she's worth it."

  "That's sweet, Ryder. And I know about the gift conundrum. Can't tell you how many times I excitedly handed my mom a beautifully wrapped gift, sure she would be over the moon about it, only to have her force a quick smile and say, 'well, isn't that lovely'."

  Kingston, who had been glued to his perch during the mad rush of customers, swept through the air and landed on the island. He scooted close enough to Ryder for a head scratch.

  "Anyhow, I'm here now, if you want to take a lunch break."

  I grabbed my sweater off the hook. "I ate a yogurt and banana in between customers, but I need to drive into Mayfield. The craft store got in more of those glass beads we need for the party bouquets. I should be back in an hour."

  "All right. And don't forget to pick up some more pastel ribbon for the tulips. We're running low on yellow and pink."

  "Right. Ribbon." I headed out the door.

  I hadn't seen or heard from Briggs since he dropped me off at my car the night before. I was sure he was busy with the case. I tried not to feel insulted that he hadn't filled me in on any new developments. I decided a quick text to see if there were any updates wouldn't hurt. I was, after all, his ad hoc partner on this investigation.

  "Anything new on the case?" I typed and then quickly replaced the with our for no other reason except it was fun to tease him.

  I'd climbed into my car and put on my seatbelt before his text came back. "I'm at the Mayfield court house waiting to testify. Previous case. Going back into the courtroom now."

  "Have fun." I texted back and put away the phone.

  I drove east out of Port Danby toward Mayfield. Mayfield was bigger and more populated than Port Danby. It had a lot more specialty stores, like the craft shop where I occasionally shopped for ribbons, glass beads and decorative vases. I turned up Parson Drive, the street that cut through the commercial district. Millie's Crafts and Hobbies was at the end of the street. Parking spots were often hard to come by, especially in the middle of the day. It seemed today was no different.

  I waited patiently for a woman to vacate a spot that was only a block away from the craft shop. She had several shopping bags, and she took her time making sure they were set just right in the trunk. She glanced back at me more than once, sort of teasing me with her slow movements, almost as if she knew she had something valuable and that she was not inclined to give it up too easily or quickly. I cast her one of my tight lipped smiles to let her know I would wait even if she decided to check air pressure and oil before backing out of the spot. I had pulled to the side enough to leave plenty of room for other drivers to go past, but many raced by with glowers, pretending I'd inconvenienced them when I knew darn well their rage came from not being first at the spot. I waved cheerily to all the scowling drivers.

  As I waited, the door to Urban Antiques opened and a woman walked out carrying a painting. It was Jodie Dean. She carried the painting carelessly in her hand as if she was ready to heave it at the first person who looked at her wrong. I pushed up straighter in my seat to get a better look at the canvas as she strode past on the sidewalk. It was Fiona Diggle's mountain lupine painting.

  I'd been concentrating on the art, but as I looked up, I met Jodie's agitated gaze. She looked quickly away.

  I smacked the steering wheel. "That's where the painting went." That sneaky, thoughtless woman must have decided that since Letty was dead, she wouldn't need her flea market purchase.

  I adjusted my rearview mirror toward the parked cars. Jodie's car was several spaces back. Unlike my friend in the Cadillac, Jodie wasted no time. She unceremoniously threw the painting into the trunk and slammed it shut. Jodie was definitely angry about something.

  The Cadillac driver had run out of stalling moves. She backed out and I pulled into the spot. I quickly pulled my phone from my purse. I'd heard of Urban Antiques, mostly because Lola mentioned that her parents were good friends with the owner, Rick Urban. I rang up Lola.

  "Hey, Pink, just got in the coolest box of men's hats."

  "I'm sure that made your day. I was calling to ask you a question. Are you free to talk a second?"

  "Yep, the store is as quiet as a graveyard."

  "I'm parked in front of Urban Antiques."

  "Traitor."

  "I'm not buying anything. In fact, I'm not even going inside the store."

  A honk jarred me out of my thoughts. I looked through the back window. A grumpy man in a truck was motioning for me to pull out, apparently thinking I was leaving. I waved him past. "My gosh, the parking spots in Mayfield are like winning lotto tickets," I quipped. "Back to my question. You said you know the owner of Urban Antiques. By any far off chance, does he know something about art?"

  "He sure does. Rick Urban used to work for some of the big museums in New York and France. He's an art expert."

  "So if someone had a painting that they thought might have some value, he'd be a person to go to for an appraisal or to find out if it was authentic?"

  "Absolutely. Twice, he had to deliver bad news to my mom when she spent too much on art thinking it was the real deal only to find out it was fake. Now she knows to ask Rick first, buy second."

  "Great. That tells me everything I need to know." I grabbed my purse.

  "Why are you in Mayfield?"

  "I need to get some things at the craft shop. If your business is slow, you should go across the street and visit Ryder."

  "I should bu
t I think I'll just stay here and try on dusty old man hats."

  "All right then, have fun with that. And thanks for the info." I hung up and dropped my phone into my purse.

  As I climbed out of the car, a lady yelled through her passenger window. "Are you leaving?"

  I looked back at my car. "I was climbing out. Not in."

  "Fine." She drove off, obviously very disgusted with my timing.

  I headed down the block to the craft store. I had some interesting new tidbits to tell Detective Briggs. Jodie was in unexplained possession of Letty's painting. It seemed Ms. Dean had just helped herself to it. She might have been the one who moved the key. Did she slash the other paintings too? At some point in time, Jodie must have decided the artwork might be valuable. Only, from the way she carried it, like someone might carry a sack of potatoes, it seemed that her first inclination had been right. Her expression and mannerisms as she left the antique store indicated that she'd heard bad news from Rick Urban, the art expert. The real question was—how far had Jodie been willing to go to get her hands on that painting?

  Chapter 26

  The longer spring hours once again coaxed me out to the front yard for some gardening. Wanting to add some height and even more vivid color to the yard, I'd taken a cue from Marty Tate and picked up several pots of red and yellow snapdragons. My neighbor, Dash, had also taken advantage of the long daylight hours. He finished mowing the last stretch of his front lawn and shut down the motor.

  "I guess the spring gardening bug has bitten my neighbor." He stepped over the small border shrub that separated our two yards. The smell of fresh cut grass brought up a sneeze. I put down the trowel and covered my face with my arm.

  "Bless you. I think I caused that with my new aftershave scent, cut grass. Although, the yard is still more weeds than grass."

  I stood up to get circulation moving in my legs again. "Marty Tate planted a bunch of snapdragons in front of the light keeper's cottage, so I decided they'd look good in front of my own cottage."

  "Speaking of Marty and the lighthouse, I'm going to climb to the top tomorrow night. It's supposed to be an awesome full moon, and the forecast says clear skies. Are you up for a little adventure?"

  "Hmm, sneaking into the lighthouse to watch the full moon sounds sort of teen-ish. Of course, I'm in. Anytime I can take myself back to the carefree, fun days of high school, I'm all for it. But one question. How are we going to get into the lighthouse?"

  "Through the door," he said matter-of-factly.

  "What about the lock?"

  "Do you mean the lock that was broken by an adventurous youth long ago that Marty has never changed? To the uninformed eye, it looks locked. But one good yank and it pops open."

  "I see. Boy, Marty might take good care of the lighthouse, but he's rather remiss on his lock system."

  Dash clapped his hands together. "Perfect. So tomorrow night around ten. Or if that's too late—"

  "Ten is fine. No self-respecting teen would sneak up there earlier than that. It would ruin the adventure. So, this adventurous youth, the lock breaker, would his initials happen to be D.V.?"

  "Me?" He pretended to be insulted. "I would never do anything so wrong. It was some kid who graduated a good five years before I got to high school. His name was Garth and he was quite the legend for breaking into places. I think he's the one who made Hawksworth Manor the town's favorite teen hangout."

  Just as he said it, a truck full of kids came down from Maple Hill.

  "Until tomorrow night then." Dash headed back to his front yard. I waved to him as he pushed his lawn mower into the backyard.

  I knelt down to my flowers. I had just enough light to finish the last two snapdragons. I was deep in thought about the day, the flurry of business and the many orders I had to fill in the coming week. Then there was the trip to Mayfield where I'd spotted Jodie with Letty's painting. I'd sent a quick text to Briggs to let him know that I had something interesting to tell him, but I hadn't heard back. He always had so much on his plate with the investigation and intermittent court appearances for past cases. He'd complained more than once that court days were his least favorite and the most grueling part of the job.

  I drew the tip of my trowel along the root-bound base of the snapdragon plant and then slipped it into the soil. A noise that I was certain was human footsteps sounded from somewhere behind me.

  "Did you change your mind about the moon?" I asked with a laugh as I spun around on my kneeling pad.

  My front yard was empty. "Captain?" I called, but there was no sign of Dash's dog. I'd left Nevermore and Kingston inside so that I could finish the project before dark. I shrugged it off as either my imagination or a large squirrel wearing shoes.

  Seconds later, I was rubbing a crawling sensation off the back of my neck. My yard was empty, but I couldn't help but feel that I was being watched. Deciding that low blood sugar was making me hear and feel things that weren't there, I hurried to finish the last plant. There was a leftover slice of pizza in my refrigerator just waiting to be melted back into stringy, gooey goodness in the microwave. I collected my things and went inside.

  Chapter 27

  As I nibbled on the slice of pizza, I considered the possibility that I'd built up the tastiness of reheated mozzarella and pepperoni a bit too much in my mind. I dropped the rubbery crust into the trash. Headlights flashed along Maple Hill as a few more cars with loud music and laughter drove down from the manor. It seemed there had been quite a gathering up there this afternoon.

  I'd been too busy to think about the Hawksworth murders and I'd had no time to visit the research room in the library. After Lola had shown me the secret key on the antique jewelry box, I wondered if the old chest in the gardener shed, the makeshift museum, had one of those secret keys. The items displayed for visitors interested in seeing the personal property of a family that was brutally murdered were fairly uninspiring. The one thing that had truly caught my eye was the old trunk jammed beneath the shelves in the shed. Franki's daughters, Kimi and Kylie, had mentioned that it was thought to be a hope chest for the eldest Hawkworth daughter. But no one had ever broken open the lock to confirm it. Another conversation popped into my head. Dash had talked about Garth, the boy who had been infamously known for breaking locks and propagating secret teen hideouts. He'd made particular mention of the Hawksworth Manor. I'd planned on waiting until one of the rare pre-summer tourist season weekends for the town to open the shed to visitors. I was hoping to inspect the trunk for a secret key compartment. But the night was still young and the idea of a walk sounded pleasant.

  I grabbed a flashlight and my sweater and headed out on my adventure. If the legend of Garth was true, then it was entirely possible that the lock on the gardener's shed had long since been compromised. If that were the case, I relished the idea of a few minutes alone with the hope chest. There was more than a good chance that the chest had no secret key compartment, but if it did, it would be well worth the hike up to the manor.

  I turned left off my street, Loveland Terrace, and up Myrtle Place. As I rounded the corner, I noticed a car parked several blocks down. Cars were rarely parked along Myrtle Place, especially at night. There were a few lights on the street, but there were plenty of shadows, all created by the plush Crape Myrtle trees lining both sides of the road. The distance and darkness and my lack of interest in cars made it impossible for me to recognize the make and model. I continued up the hill to the Hawksworth Manor. The great gothic silhouette of the house looked like a black paper cut out against the softly moonlit night sky. I rounded to the side of the lot where the gardener's shed sat tucked in its lonely, dark corner. The lights from the city were blocked by the massive house, and the moonlight got tangled up in some of the overgrown trees. The site was eerily quiet and nothing made me more edgy than darkness. I flicked on the flashlight. Its yellow beam spread out over the lot.

  The barn shaped shed, original to the site, had been maintained by the town. While tourists were not all
owed into the manor, with its crumbling staircases and ceilings, the gardener's shed was opened for visitors on special occasions and summer weekends. Port Danby had to make sure the building remained safe for guests.

  I pointed my flashlight at the large, unwieldy padlock that gripped the latch on the sliding door. It certainly looked secure. I reached for it, certain that I'd wasted a trip up the hill, but as I pulled, the lock dropped open. I illuminated the top of the lock with my flashlight. It was hard to see clearly, but it seemed some clever prankster, probably even the infamous Garth, had jammed a tiny ball of paper into the hole, making it impossible for it to be locked tightly. Yet, when it was set just right, it looked as if it was firmly secured. I wondered if it was a rite of passage for teens in the area to learn about the various broken locks. What was more amazing to think about was that through the years, no one had given away the secrets.

  I held the flashlight between my knees, so I could use both hands to slide open the barn door. An empty potato chip bag fluttered out through the newly opened doorway and bounced off toward the road. A crackling sound startled me. I circled the light beam around the yard behind me. The potato chip bag continued on its journey. It was hard to match up the sound I'd heard with an empty bag. I reasoned it away as a critter of some kind in the shrubby brush lining the property.

  I'd been in the shed only once, but I knew that the chest was right near the door. I was thankful that I didn't need to journey farther into the room. With only my flashlight to illuminate the objects, the shadows and silhouettes looked especially creepy.

  I didn't want to linger long in the building. I got right to work searching the trunk for a secret key. I knelt down on the thin layer of grit covering the wood floor of the shed. The miniature lock would need a specially crafted key. I was sure one of the reasons the trunk had never been opened was because the museum curators didn't want to damage it. And if the chest only contained linens and bed sheets, they would hardly be worth the effort.