Sunflowers and Sabotage Page 13

  I laughed all the way back to the kitchen where I set about washing his sink full of dishes. "It looks like you were running an Italian restaurant through your kitchen today. Just how many people dined here?"

  "I'm bored and eating is my only form of entertainment." He managed to carry both glasses, stacked together, into the kitchen.

  "Was Officer Burke going to talk to the Cramptons? I'd be curious about their interview," I hinted. "I was only able to talk to Mrs. Crampton for a few seconds. The one thing I learned was that Belinda Crampton believed it was Ellen who sabotaged the dog show by feeding peanut butter to Belvedere."

  Briggs scratched his temple. "Not being on the case, I'm having a hard time keeping up with people names and dog names."

  "Belvedere was the favorite to win, but someone slipped him peanut butter and that interfered with the judging. So the favorite lost and Ellen's poodle, Pebbles, the dog on the beach, won the trophy. Then accusations flew and Ellen wound up dead. That was my quick catch up summary."

  He nodded. "Got it. I think I'll call Burke tomorrow to see how things are progressing. Even though I'm technically on medical leave, they'll probably need my help."

  I put the plates in the dishwasher. An idea popped in my head. I spun around fast enough to spray water from my hands. He stared down at the splatter on his shirt.

  "Sorry about that. I just got excited about a possible idea," I said.

  "Excitement and new ideas from Lacey should always come with a warning tag. What's this new possible idea?"

  I grabbed a dishtowel to dry my hands. "Glad you asked."

  "Did I have a choice?"

  "Not really." We headed out to his couch. "Do you think you could get me into the crime scene? I noticed the trailer was still at the park."

  "Yes, I think they're going to move it to the evidence garage tomorrow."

  I sat down. Bear climbed up onto the couch next to me and dropped his big head in my lap. His fur was mostly dry, but he was still plenty stinky. "Then we need to go early before they move it. I'd like to search for more clues."

  He sighed with resignation. "I know you'll just keep asking. I suppose I can get you inside for one last look around. Anything in particular you're looking for?"

  I shrugged. "Nothing in particular but you know how second glances give you a whole new perspective." I sat forward, slightly jarring Bear from his nap. I patted his head and he went back to his snores. "That reminds me, I walked up to the Hawksworth site the other evening and took a second look in the locked trunk."

  "At night? By yourself?" he asked. I loved that he was protective but occasionally it made me feel like a little kid.

  "Seriously, James, I'm not a child. And you know how I feel about the dark. I walked up while there was still daylight." I pointed to my ear. "And yes, I just heard the irony there when I said I wasn't a child but mentioned my fear of the dark so you don't need to point it out."

  "Fine, I won't. What did you dig out of ole Bertram's belongings? I thought you'd already shuffled through that stuff."

  "I did but as I prefaced this conversation, it was all about taking a second look." Bear got too warm sitting on the couch. The cushions waddled side to side as he lifted his big body off the couch and dropped lazily to ground with a deep doggie sigh.

  I brushed stray hairs off my jeans. "Remember I told you about the account ledgers? Well, I noticed an odd entry that was only listed as a gift. It was for seventy-three dollars. At first I didn't think much about it but then I found the same entry for a gift of seventy-three dollars for every month after. All the other entries were much more detailed with the name of the person being paid and their addresses and place of business but these recurring entries just said gift."

  "Interesting. Maybe Hawksworth was being blackmailed or maybe he was paying someone a monthly stipend but was keeping it from his wife."

  I sat up with interest. "Which actually might link with the love letters I found. They are to Teddy from Button. Since it was Bertram's trunk, it's easy to assume he's Teddy, but Button is a mystery. Unless, of course, that was a pet name Bertram had for his wife, Jill."

  "Could be but it sounds like you might be onto something with that recurring payment. You've become quite the super sleuth."

  "So we're on for the trailer search tomorrow?" I asked with a hopeful grin.

  "Sure. Who am I to stand in the way of an investigator and her crime scene?" Right then, a flash of lightning lit up his small house, light bulbs sputtered and the television cable box made a clicking sound. Seconds later, the power went out, bathing the house in complete darkness. I hopped over the cushion separating us and nearly landed in his lap.

  Briggs put his arm around me and held me close at his side. "I planned that well." His voice drifted into the darkness.

  I had no idea exactly when my fear of the dark became a permanent fixture of my psyche, but it had never faded. In my mind, something about the lack of light transferred to the lack of oxygen. But having Briggs' arm around me helped calm any sparks of panic that might otherwise have taken off like fireworks.

  "Are you telling me you asked that streak of lightning to take out a power pole so you could take advantage of my weakness?" I asked.

  "I might not have planned it directly, but when the thunderstorm started, I have to admit, the idea of a power outage did pass through my somewhat one track mind, several times. And it seems everything has worked out just as I hoped." He squeezed me closer, then winced as the movement caused him to brush his injured arm against the side of the couch. "Except for the big bandage around my arm and the twenty plus stitches. That was never part of my plan."

  I rested my head against him. Raindrops drummed on the roof and the distant clap of thunder echoed over the town.

  "I could almost get used to darkness as long as it always came with Detective James Briggs."

  Chapter 28

  The police had put cones and yellow tape around the trailer, which still stood next to a grassy patch on one side of the park. The other side was busy with a baseball game and kids playing on the swings and slide. No one seemed too interested in the sad looking trailer and its belt of yellow caution tape. The shock of the murder had already worn off, and people were getting back to their summer activities.

  The short-lived thunderstorm had left behind happy summer plants, once wilted and thirsty from the long, hot days. Trees and shrubs practically danced in the daylight, their thirst now quenched and the dry dust washed from their leaves.

  Briggs had gone by the Chesterton station to pick up the key. The precinct was waiting for a special tow truck to pick up the trailer and move it from the park to the station's garage. While they didn't expect to find much more evidence, they had plans for a more thorough search once the trailer had been moved to their facility. So we were getting to it just in time. Once the trailer was at the station, I wouldn't have much opportunity to give it a once over. The quick stop at the station also provided a few interesting nuggets of information. Officer Burke told Briggs that the coroner placed Ellen's time of death somewhere between two and four in the afternoon. That matched with the time span in my head. The final trophy had been handed out around one in the afternoon, so obviously it had to happen after one. Melody had cried for help as the vendors were cleaning up for the day, which was around half past four. That left a pretty narrow chunk of time for someone to kill Ellen. In addition to the time of death being confirmed, when Briggs stopped in for the key, Officer Burke was waiting for the Cramptons to arrive for an interview. They had decided the lawsuit and subsequent personal and financial troubles gave the couple a pretty solid motive for revenge.

  Briggs and I stepped over the fluttering band of yellow tape and walked up the portable steps. The short climb brought back the details of that day. "Do you know if Ellen's dogs are being taken care of?" I asked.

  "Yes, Ellen's sister arrived and is making arrangements for the funeral. Burke said she is going to be taking the dogs back home with
her."

  "Poor things," I said. "I can't imagine what Never and King would think if I suddenly just disappeared from their lives. Although, if Lola took Kingston in, like she has promised in the event of my untimely death, then he probably wouldn't even notice me missing."

  "He's still holding onto that Lola crush, eh?" Briggs unlocked the door and opened it.

  "What can I say? Kingston is a romantic." The same smells hit me as on Saturday, lavender, a slight scent of blood and other dog grooming fragrances. Only this time, they were far more muted. No sneezes or watery eyes.

  A light chalk outline showed where Ellen's body had been found. Not much had been disturbed, but the kitchen cabinets hung open and the trash can had been pulled from its space under the shelf. I glanced back at Briggs who was searching the door jamb for any missed clues.

  "Did Burke say if they found anything of interest in the kitchen? They seem to have gone through it pretty thoroughly."

  "He didn't mention any evidence other than the stake used to knock her unconscious and the bag and collar. The lab couldn't find any viable fingerprints in the trailer. They dusted the cupboards too and only found those that matched the victim."

  I stood over the trash can. It looked as if it had been tossed around, not layered with the day's discards like normal kitchen trash. I pulled out the latex gloves Briggs had given me and gently moved the trash around. There was an empty yogurt cup, rancid smelling leftovers of fried chicken, the usual paper towel and napkin waste and an empty bag of turkey dog treats. There was no empty jar of peanut butter. One thing, completely out of place in a kitchen trash can was a number of business cards, just like the one Ellen handed us on the beach. There seemed to be about a hundred of them distributed throughout the rubbish. My guess would be that someone dropped them into the trash in a solid stack, but they were jumbled about when the police did their search. I pulled one out and checked the spelling and all the lettering. I couldn't find any glaring mistakes.

  Briggs looked over my shoulder. "That looks just like the one she handed us on the beach," he said.

  "Sure seems like it. I can't find any printing error or typo. I wonder why Ellen would throw away perfectly good business cards." I looked back at him. "Unless the killer hated that she had a successful business." I snapped my fingers, nearly ripping the latex glove. "The Cramptons certainly had reason to despise her success. Maybe they threw them out as a sort of symbol, a revenge ta da moment after they killed her."

  "I've seen crazy little embellishments like that to a murder scene. You might be onto something."

  "Great, I'd pat myself on the back, but I've been digging in garbage. Garbage, by the way, that does not contain any kind of peanut butter container." I moved forward to the open cupboards. "Now let's see if she has an open jar in her kitchen."

  Only one cupboard had been set aside as a pantry. It contained canned goods, several types of crackers and a box of cereal. "No peanut butter," I said. "Not even a jar of its favorite companion, jelly."

  "If she had sabotaged the show, it would make sense that she ditched the jar somewhere else, one of the park trash cans or bins," Briggs said.

  "That's true. Only I still don't understand why I couldn't find any traces of peanut butter on Ellen's hands. Even if she had washed them, which she no doubt would have, I still would have picked up a faint scent. Peanut butter has a distinct aroma, and it's greasy enough to absorb into the skin."

  "Well, if you're going to get all science-y, then I'd say Ellen wasn't the saboteur. Maybe someone else wanted Avery to lose the show. If she is always the winner, there could be a whole bunch of sour grapes out there. But then we aren't really looking for the peanut butter culprit, we're looking for a murderer. The dog show scandal might not be connected at all."

  "You're right. It's almost as if you've done this sort of thing before," I quipped as I snooped around the kitchenette area for other clues.

  Briggs' phone rang. He answered it. "Briggs here. Yeah, go ahead, Burke. What did you find out?"

  I was all ears when I heard him address Officer Burke. I casually looked around but kept glancing and leaning my ear his direction, hoping to pick up the gist of the conversation. Briggs was not a man of many words on the phone, and this call was no different. "Right. That's pretty solid. Thanks for letting me know. Keep me posted." He hung up.

  I clapped a few times in succession. "You said the word solid. Was it the Cramptons? Did they confess?"

  Briggs chuckled. "Sorry to burst that bubble because it's awfully cute on you but no confession. A corroborated alibi though. It seems the Cramptons were not at the park between the hours of two and four. They had gone over to Mayfield to have a late lunch at their favorite restaurant, The Mariner. They frequent the restaurant enough that both the food server and the restaurant owner could confirm that they were there having the lobster, seafood platter."

  My posture deflated. "Darn it. Thought maybe I had something there. But then, I did tell you about the whole peppermint dog shampoo thing. There wasn't any peppermint smell on the victim. I'm sure I would have detected it."

  "Yes, you did preface your theory with that." He glanced around. "Have you seen enough, inspector? I should lock up and get the key back to the station."

  "Yes, I'm finished. I need to get over to Port Danby for my other job." I sighed dramatically. "A woman's work is never done."

  Chapter 29

  I turned my car along Culpepper Road and thought it was far too beautiful of a day to be driving a car. But my bike had not one but two flat tires, a result of an unfortunate encounter with a sticker bush. I still hadn't had time to get new inner tubes. It was probably for the best today since I had several stops planned and it was my turn to close the shop this afternoon.

  It had been a slow morning at Pink's Flowers. Ryder and I had both puttered around doing small cleaning and organizing tasks we normally ignored. Free of her parents, Lola was back to her old self. Which if I really thought about it, was about a dozen different personalities. Most importantly, Ryder and Lola were back on good terms. That always made my life easier. Ryder had come back from a long lunch with Lola in such a bright mood, I had determined I could easily slip out for a few hours.

  During the monotonous morning task of rewinding ribbons on spools, I had decided a trip to Hart's Feed and Grain might be worth my while. Barrett Hart's family owned the feed store in Chesterton. I had already devised a plan of getting him to open up about, of all things, dog shampoo. I was still going on the notion that Melody's friend Barrett, the one she had left a pleading message for, was the same Barrett who was seeing Avery.

  Hart's Feed and Grain was in a remote section of Chesterton where the farms ended and the neighborhoods began. The storefront was a good sized stucco warehouse with only a few windows and a big roll up door. A large open barn was situated behind the store. It was stacked to the rafters with bales of hay and bags of feed.

  A flatbed truck was being loaded down with bales of alfalfa. Neither of the two young men heaving the bales onto the truck were Barrett. That actually worked better for my plan. With any luck, Barrett would be working inside the shop, the appropriate place for a question about dog shampoo.

  A woman in the orange Hart's shirt was helping a man pick the right dog food and another couple was picking out a bird feeder. There was no sign of Barrett. I browsed the line of shampoo and pretended to be confused. My act worked.

  "Barrett, come on out," the woman called. "Someone needs help in the grooming aisle, and I'm with a customer."

  Barrett was a nice looking guy with a slight overbite that sort of added to his charm. He had thick hair that he combed back as he headed toward me. He seemed to recognize me, but he gave me one of those 'you're familiar but I don't know why' looks. "How can I help you?" he asked.

  "I'm looking for a good shampoo for my dog." I pulled a bottle of Ellen's Lavender Pooch off the shelf. "I've been doing a little research and review reading. I know that this is one of the most
popular brands, but Melody, the owner of the Foxy Dog Salon, doesn't recommend it because it gives her a rash. Also the Cramptons, who, as I'm sure you know, are quite important in the Chesterton dog world, don't use Lavender Pooch. They have a special shampoo with a peppermint fragrance."

  I stopped and gave him my best perplexed expression, hoping he would add his own take on it all. He reached for a shampoo bottle that was tinted green and handed it to me. It seemed he was going to be the silent type of salesman. Darn it.

  "This is the peppermint one the Cramptons use," he said succinctly, without wasting a word.

  I unscrewed the cap. Without thinking, I pushed my nose over the opening and took a deep breath. It felt as if I had squirted a bottle of peppermint oil directly into my sinuses. It burned and made me tear up. I quickly handed him the bottle and cap before bursting into a sneeze fit.

  He looked a little panicked. I put up a hand to show him I was all right. I shuffled blindly around in my purse for a tissue. I sneezed two more times and finished my embarrassing display. I was sure he'd never seen quite that reaction to a bottle of shampoo.

  I sniffled and wiped my eyes. "Sorry, I guess I'm allergic to peppermint." I was going to use my explosive reaction to my advantage. "Obviously, that shampoo is out." I stared at the bottle of Lavender Pooch and bit my lip indecisively. "I sure would like to try the lavender shampoo, but I value the groomer's opinion. Melody was emphatic about not liking the brand." I looked questioningly at him.

  He raked his fingers through his thick hair again and seemed to be debating whether or not to say anything.

  "Have you heard any complaints about it?" I asked.

  "No, most people like it. And, frankly, it's not surprising that Melody is telling her clients to avoid it. She is the one who came up with the formula."

  I blinked at him for a second, not completely sure I was catching his meaning. "I'm confused (and I truly was). Melody came up with the Lavender Pooch formula?"