Lavender and Lies Page 13

  Chapter 28

  Elsie strode forward with a plate in her hand. "Nothing too special, just an apple cinnamon muffin. I wanted the display tray to be symmetrical and this one was extra."

  "Well, hooray for symmetry." I took the plate. "I think it might have to be dinner. I went to lunch with Marty Tate, and the two of us finished off a basket of cornbread that could have fed an entire fire station filled with hungry firemen."

  Elsie hopped on the stool. "Did you just say you had lunch with Marty Tate? Lighthouse Marty?" Her forehead bunched with disbelief.

  "Marty is helping me with the Hawksworth investigation. It turns out his mother, Elizabeth, was friends with Jane Price."

  Elsie blinked at me. "And that's good because . . ."

  "That's right. I guess I've never filled you in on the thread I'm following in the murder case. Jane Price was Mayor Price's daughter from a first marriage."

  Elsie nearly slipped off the stool. "Harlan Price was married before and had a daughter?"

  I put my hands on my hips. "Elsie, have you been sipping that coffee liqueur again? How could Jane Price be both Harlan's daughter and friends with Elizabeth Tate? Different centuries, remember?"

  She waved it off. "Right. Sorry. Guess I'm tired. I need to go for a good long run."

  I laughed. "Not many people I know follow the words 'I'm tired' with 'I need to go for a long run'."

  "They should. There would be a lot less tired, cranky people in the world. Speaking of murders, what is happening? I heard there was a second victim down at the marina. I'll bet that handsome detective of yours is busy."

  "He must be. I haven't heard from him all day. I'm going to drop by the station after I close up to see if he needs me to bring him dinner. Have you talked to Kate at all?"

  "She never came into the bakery today, and I rarely have occasion to go into her shop. Her little sidewalk sale seemed to be doing well." Elsie reached down and tied her shoe. "I met the photographer today," she muttered as she was leaned over.

  "Did you?" I asked, suddenly intrigued. "I thought she had left town already."

  "She came in around lunchtime and bought a cheese filled croissant. She was carrying her camera bag, so I asked her if she was through taking pictures here in Port Danby. She said she was finished with the lighthouse but decided to stick around for one more shot of the sunset on the beach. She mentioned something about fog ruining the last sunset. She plans to move to the next coastal town in the morning." With that, she jumped down from the stool. "Speaking of sunset, I need to go on my run before it gets too dark. Les and I exchanged sibling promises to each other. He is going to eat vegetables and grain three nights a week, no meat, no cheese, no beer, and I promised not to go running after dark."

  I walked her to the door. "That's nice. It's good that you two are looking after each other."

  "Yep, with Hank all the way in Australia for the next two months and Britney gone to Europe, it's nice to know my brother is keeping an eye on me. Or at least I let him think that, even though it's really the other way around."

  I opened the door for her. "Whatever direction it's coming from, it's nice." She was just about to leave when a question popped into my head. Not really sure the purpose for it, but my intuition just nudged it out. "By the way, when Heather, the photographer, came into the bakery, you said she was carrying her camera bag. Was she wearing her camera around her neck?"

  Elsie rolled her eyes up in thought. "Yes, I think it was around her neck."

  "Interesting," I said. "Well, thanks for the cinnamon muffin. Have a good run. In fact, run a few miles for me, would ya?"

  She chuckled on her way out. "If I could do that, I would. I could make a big fortune running for people."

  I was still laughing as I closed the shop door.

  Chapter 29

  I locked up and left Kingston napping on his perch. I decided a quick trip to the police station was in order before I headed home. I hadn't heard from Briggs all day, and it wasn't like him not to at least send a text to say hello. I could only assume he was swamped with work, what with two murders and all the other police business he was required to perform. He was just lucky he had me hot on the trail too, I thought with a mental pat on the back. Of course, hot on the trail wasn't exactly accurate, more like lukewarm, and there wasn't really a trail but more like a few scattered stepping stones.

  Briggs' car wasn't in front of the station, which signaled he wasn't in the office. I continued inside though, hoping I could do a little snooping in the evidence room. I'd been sort of wound up in my other investigation, the Hawksworth murders, and it had kept me from really digging deeper into the recent murders. I was prepared to go full steam ahead to get these cases solved before I continued on the Hawksworth mystery.

  Hilda had been busy stringing up some of her cheesy fall decorations, garlands of fake leaves that, unlike some of the more impressive garlands I'd seen at the craft store, looked truly unnatural. I could have colored leaves on a piece of paper, cut them out, strung them up and they would have looked more real. But it made me smile anyhow. Hilda was always trying her best to make the very plain and stark station office look more inviting.

  "Lacey," Hilda chirruped as she glanced over the chin height counter. "If you're here to see Detective Briggs, he was called to the courthouse this afternoon. Boy, was he mad too. Poor guy has so much stuff on his plate. They pull him in far too many directions, if you ask me."

  "I agree, Hilda. I suppose Officer Chinmoor is out on patrol?" I asked.

  "Yes, although he just radioed that he was taking a dinner break. Oh, would you like to try a piece of my coffee cake? I made it this morning and brought it in. I sent a big slice with James this morning." She picked the plate up off her desk and placed it on the counter. "It's cinnamon streusel," she announced proudly. Hilda loved to bake things. Unfortunately, she was the opposite end of the spectrum from Elsie when it came to baking talent. I couldn't count how many dry, flavorless cookies and crunchy, bitter brownies I'd had to choke down with a smile, all while profusely complimenting her. Briggs thought it might be less dangerous to our health if we just confessed to her that her baked goods weren't all that tasty, but I immediately stopped that idea. So we were forced to continually taste and enjoy Hilda's confections. But today, I had a good excuse at the ready.

  "I'm sure it's delicious." I took a deep whiff. There was definitely cinnamon, but I wasn't going to be fooled by its mouthwatering aroma. "I can't possibly. Elsie brought me a cinnamon muffin just a few minutes ago, one of her jumbo muffins. It had cinnamon topping just like this cake. I think I've reached my baked good quota for the day. Thank you though. You can tell James that he can have my piece."

  Hilda's mouth turned down in disappointment. "Well, all right, if you're sure you've had enough. I know Elsie's muffins are probably way better than my coffee cake."

  "I'm sure that's not true." I tried my hardest to sound sincere.

  Hilda smiled and picked up the plate. "I guess I'll just give your piece to James. He probably finished the first chunk hours ago, so he'll be ready for more."

  I pulled my lips in to fight a giggle. What a stinker I was. "Hilda, I hate to bother you, but do you think you could let me into the evidence room?"

  She looked less than enthusiastic. "Oh, I don't know, Lacey, with neither of the boys here, I'm not sure it's a good idea."

  "I'm sure James won't mind," I said. "He knows I'm working on the murder cases. He's so busy, I'm sure he'll be extra pleased if I can find something helpful. I only need to see one piece of evidence. I'll take a quick look, then we can lock the room up and that will be the end of it." I gave her my best pleading look over the tall counter.

  Her cheeks puffed with a grin. "I guess it couldn't hurt. Besides, I sometimes think you're better at solving these murders than the professionals. I know most of that is due to that powerful nose of yours." She buzzed me through the gate and picked up her keys. "Is it an article of clothing?" she asked.
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  "I beg your pardon?" I'd gone into sleuth mode, and I was plotting out my next step.

  Our footsteps echoed down the narrow, empty hallway to the evidence room.

  "The evidence you're going to sniff? Is it clothing?"

  "Oh, that. No, actually, I just want to look at something. No sniffing today."

  Hilda looked wide eyed at me. "Well, all right. I suppose that can't hurt either." She pushed the key in and fiddled with the lock a few seconds before pushing open the door.

  "I'm looking for a photograph from the Lionel Dexter murder investigation," I said.

  Hilda and I perused the shelves. The evidence bag with the picture was sitting next to a box containing Lionel's shoes.

  "Wait," Hilda said as I reached for the bag. I worried she had changed her mind about letting me see the evidence. She spun around and hurried to the metal table used to examine evidence. She plucked two latex gloves from the box and carried them back to me. "Can't forget these."

  "You're right. Thanks." I pulled the gloves on, picked up the bag and carried it to the table. It was a small enough piece of evidence that the table wasn't really necessary, but it seemed Hilda wanted to make sure we did everything by the book. Briggs had allowed me into the evidence room many times. I was sure he'd have no qualms about letting me see the photo, but I didn't want Hilda to worry. I hadn't expected her to stick around but she lingered nonetheless, so I was very slow and methodical about my approach, assuring her I'd done it all before. In truth, the entire process could have taken me just seconds, and we'd already be heading out the door.

  I unsealed the bag and pulled out the picture. It had been crumpled at some point, but someone had taken the time to smooth it out so the image was clear. Lionel and Glenda were walking along the wharf, holding hands and seemingly enjoying their stroll. Glenda was wearing her oversized sunglasses, and Lionel was wearing a gray suit, entirely overdressed for a stroll at the beach. That seemed to be his usual style. It seemed he'd decided dapper was the best look for tricking women into loving him. Not that I had proof yet that he was a philanderer, but evidence was sure pointing in that direction.

  There were several bright lights above the table that acted like spotlights. I moved the photo under one for a better look. "The photo quality," I muttered.

  Hilda leaned over to look at it. "Looks like someone needs a new printer. The blue ocean looks sort of green."

  I peered up at her. "And blacks look gray. I know who printed this photo, or at least I'm nearly positive." I was so giddy I surprised Hilda with an impromptu hug.

  She pressed her hand to her chest and laughed lightly. "Wow, did we just solve the murder? James will be thrilled."

  "Well, we didn't solve the murder yet, but we did solve the mystery of who was delivering incriminating photos of Lionel Dexter to the women he was dating. It's an important step," I assured her.

  I realized I had to tamp down my enthusiasm a bit. The photo was only evidence that Heather was the anonymous tipster. There was still nothing connecting Heather to the murder or to Lionel and Glenda except that she happened to take a picture of them walking on the wharf. But why?

  I needed to hurry. Heather told Elsie she needed another sunset shot, and the sun was already low in the sky. I pushed the photo back into the bag, sealed it up and placed it right back in the exact same location.

  I pulled off the gloves and tossed them in the trash. "Thank you so much for letting me do this, Hilda. I'll let James know I pleaded and begged and wouldn't let you take no for an answer."

  We headed out of the room. "I'm sure that's not necessary, especially if this whole escapade helped move the case forward."

  We reached the front office, and I gave her another brief hug before heading out the door. I needed to get to the beach and find out what Heather Houston was up to.

  Chapter 30

  I shoved my hands in my coat pockets to keep them warm and strode purposefully toward the wharf. I wasn't exactly sure what I would say or do when I met up with Heather, but I was sure something would come to me. I was, of course, doing exactly what Briggs always warned me not to do. I was approaching a possible suspect on my own. But it was hard to even consider Heather a suspect. There was seemingly no connection between Lionel, Glenda and Heather. There was no motive. Unless Lionel was seeing Heather too, but I'd seen her around town several times and never noticed her with Lionel. And frankly, how on earth could a man, no matter how big a cad, see that many women in such a small space of time. There just weren't that many hours in a day.

  I reached the steps to the beach and gazed around at the sand. No sign of a photographer or her equipment. The sun was still a good half hour away from producing one of its glorious sunsets over the Pacific, but I was certain Heather would need time to set up to make sure she got the shot just right.

  The late afternoon wind that usually whipped up as the temperature dropped had slowed to a mild, salty breeze. Thin wispy clouds cluttered the horizon, but no sign of a fog bank. It was the perfect scenario for a beautiful glowing pink and orange sunset.

  I didn't want to be caught watching and waiting for her to show up, so I headed down the stairs to take a walk on the beach. I pulled my hood up and tucked my hands in my pockets as I trudged through the thicker, drier sand to the more solidly packed wet sand. Seagulls were still dropping down on the white crests rolling toward shore, hoping to find their last snack before nightfall.

  I headed toward the outcropping of rocks below the lighthouse. There was a precariously narrow path that led down from the rear of Marty's house to a tiny stretch of sand and the rocks. When Briggs and I were feeling a little like our teenage selves, we coaxed ourselves into climbing the rocks. They held plenty of critter filled tide pools. It was always fun to watch the sea life going through their daily routines in their shallow, watery world on the rocks.

  I was about fifty yards from the outcropping of rocks when a figure emerged on top of them. It was Heather. She was carrying her camera bag but no tripod. It seemed she'd actually put her camera inside the bag for a change, which made some sense because it wasn't that easy to traverse the rocks.

  She spotted me and looked confused at first and a little miffed, unless I was imagining the latter. I reached the rocks just as she was climbing down. She gripped her unwieldy black camera bag in her hand as she made the descent.

  "Hello," I said cheerily. "We meet again."

  Her brows pinched together as she concentrated on her footing. She reached the last rock and stepped off into the sand. "Yes, if I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you were following me." Her tone was not nearly as cheery as mine. In fact, bitter would have been a better word.

  I laughed airily as if she had said it in a jovial tone. "Coincidence, I think. I'm out taking a stroll." I squinted out to the horizon. "It's going to be a beautiful sunset."

  "Yes, that's why I'm here."

  "Guess we should both be careful," I said, again with lightness as if we were just having a nice chat. Occasionally, my friendly attitude helped break the ice, but it didn't seem to be working this time. "There have been two murders in the vicinity," I continued.

  Heather took the statement as if I'd just said there were two gulls on the beach. She continued walking so I joined her. "Yes, I've heard. Guess that's a good signal for me to be moving on. I don't like to hang around places where people get shot."

  My face snapped her direction. "How did you know they were shot?" I hoped to catch her off guard and fluster her with my question, but she was quite the calm, cool cookie.

  "I read it in the paper."

  Darn, she was one of the five people in the world who still read a local newspaper.

  "Of course, that makes sense." I was hitting a lot of brick walls and awkward silence. I took a deep breath and decided just to go for it. She was already put off by my presence, so I figured I could just add a little salt to the wound.

  Heather stopped suddenly. Apparently, she'd found the right sp
ot for her photo. She placed her camera bag on the sand.

  "No tripod today?" I asked.

  She pulled a bandana from her back pocket and tied up her hair. "Not today," she said curtly.

  "Well, then, I guess I'll let you get to work." I pretended to walk away. "Except I did want to ask you one thing."

  Her forehead jutted forward in a scowl.

  "Real quick question. A friend of mine received a photo the other day. It was left anonymously under her shop door. It showed my friend's new boyfriend walking on the wharf, holding hands with another woman." Her glower deepened so I spoke faster. "She showed it to me. I happened to notice that the ink quality matched the photos of the lighthouse you showed me. Blues faded to green and blacks to gray. You'd mentioned it was your terrible printer."

  I expected more anger, her face to grow red and her nostrils to flare. Instead, she lost color in her face. Her defensive posture softened. "You're talking about the owner of Mod Frock?"

  "Yes."

  Heather nodded. "We women have to stick together, you know?" Suddenly, we were a 'we' and her tone had lightened. "I saw the man in question more than once in my short time here in Port Danby. Each time he was with a different woman. Someone close to me was hurt very badly by a man just like that, so I decided to let the women know."

  Her explanation seemed plausible, honorable, even. Had I hit another dead end? A few minutes earlier I practically skipped out of the police station thrilled that I had a solved the mystery of the photographs. I was certain they were connected to the murders, but it was entirely possible they were just a friendly warning to the women that they were being played.

  "My friend was upset by the photo, but I'm sure she was grateful for the warning. The woman in the photograph looked very glamorous, as if she had money. I'd never seen her before in Port Danby. Did you send her a photo too? One with another woman?" Briggs' team had searched for a photograph on the boat, one like Kate and Margaret had received, but there was no sign of it. It was possible Glenda had torn it up and disposed of it too.