Cornflowers and Corpses Read online

  "Girls," I said cheerily. "Good job this morning. We're a great team. (A pep talk was always a good way to start.) I need to go out on an errand. It shouldn't take more than an hour." I looked at Amelia. Her reaction was about what I expected, guarded and far less enthusiastic about the notion than Barbara.

  Barbara pushed a long stem rose into a rosebud vase. "No problem, we'll hold down the fort."

  "Yes, we will," Amelia said meekly. I motioned for her to follow me down the hallway to the office. I'd already learned that Barbara never considered that she was doing anything wrong, so it followed that she never suspected exchanged secret looks or private conversations had anything to do with her.

  We reached the office and I shut the door. "Barbara seemed to be in a focused, less bossy mood this morning, so I thought I could slip out for a bit," I started.

  "No, of course, you're right. You should go. What kind of assistant would I be if I couldn't manage the shop for an hour? Go on your errand and take your time." Her words were encouraging. Her tone was not. But she was right. I hired an assistant to help run the shop, and that was what I needed from her right now.

  "Remember what we talked about, Amelia. Just let her criticisms roll off of you. Eventually, she'll realize we're not paying attention, and she'll get bored of handing them out." I wasn't entirely sure about my theory. Controlling people held pretty tightly to their bossy principles, but it still didn't hurt to let her suggestions swish right by.

  Amelia nodded sharply. "Yes, I will. Now go on your errand. Everything here is under control."

  I hugged her. "Thanks. You're a great assistant." I grabbed my purse and keys and headed out the door and across the street to Lola's Antiques.

  Lola was grunting and using colorful language as she struggled to move a large walnut table with massive carved legs to a corner in the store. I put down my purse and joined in her struggle. Somehow, the two of us managed to get the table 'close enough' to the spot she had carved out for it.

  "I don't know why I allowed Mrs. Gregory to talk me into putting this monstrosity in the shop on consignment. These bulky relics are not popular anymore. It's just going to take up space and collect dust." With that she swiped both her hands past each other. "What brings you to my fine establishment? Are you hiding from bossy Barbara?"

  "Nope, I'm going to meet an informant just like a real investigator. I'm telling you and only you in case this whole thing goes south."

  Lola began setting chairs around the table, but my words finally penetrated her brain. Her face snapped up. "Wait, what? What do you mean about it going south?"

  I tried to backtrack quickly. "No, not south. Just if it turns out to be nothing. Forget my babbling." I spoke fast and just as clumsily put myself right back in trouble. "I'm meeting them at the small park off Culpepper road in case I—" I came to a cliff and stopped not sure how to proceed.

  "In case what?" she asked. "In case you disappear? Lacey—"

  "I won't disappear." A frustrated groan escaped me. "I came to you because I thought you were the path of least resistance."

  "Great, so you're going to pile this big responsibility on me." She put the last chair down hard enough that it sounded as if a leg cracked. "You know I'm not good with responsibility." She wiggled the chair and the cracking sound grew louder. "And now you've made me break the chair of this old Victorian relic that no one is going to want and that I'll have to dust and vacuum around for the next ten years."

  "Sorry about the chair but that was your fault, and even though I need to be on my way, I thought I'd fill your ears with my own personal rant. I spoke to Ryder today on Skype."

  That announcement sure got her attention. "You did? So, bestie, did you talk to him and tell him you could not function or run the shop without him so that he cuts short his internship?"

  "No, bestie, because I don't want to be the reason he cuts his adventure short. That's between the two of you. My shop is running fine. Not nearly as smoothly as I hoped, but I'll make it easily through the season."

  "Some friend you are," she huffed and stomped over to her counter to pull out a rag to dust the massive table and chairs.

  "You took the words right out of my mouth," I said. "Using me as leverage to get Ryder to come home was a dirty trick, even by your standards."

  "I thought it was rather clever." Lola began rubbing the table in hard circular motions as if buffing out an old car.

  "You're really not going to sell that thing if you take off the years of charming and much sought after patina. Anyhow, I told Ryder everything was fine at the shop, so you're on your own with your scheme to get him home. I'm on my way."

  "Text me when you get back," she said angrily, but it showed she cared. "You know, in case I have to break the news to James that you've disappeared."

  I blew her a kiss. "Love you."

  "Yeah, love you too . . . sometimes," she added as I hurried out the door.

  Chapter 28

  The park off Culpepper Road was really just a small green space with a slide, a swing set and a few rickety picnic benches under the shade of trees. I parked my car around the corner and off Culpepper Road. I saw no other cars. The area, in general, was deserted due to the fact that Culpepper and the surrounding roads were dotted with five acre farms. Low density buildings resulted in fewer people.

  I pushed my phone into the pocket of my jeans. It was my only safety precaution if things didn't look right. The note was sitting on the passenger seat. I picked it up and looked at it once more hoping that something about it would pop out at me and uncover the mystery of who sent it. But the only thing that stood out to me was that the handwriting looked neat, curly and feminine. That made me feel a bit easier about the whole thing. It was silly, of course, because I'd certainly helped bring down my share of female killers, but something about the script seemed non-threatening, innocent.

  I considered waiting in the car, in case I sensed trouble and needed to make a fast escape. But it wasn't exactly the behavior of a great investigator. What if the person didn't see me and decided not to stop. I would never know who wrote the letter, and I would never get to hear the information. What if they knew who the killer was? What if they'd witnessed the murder and they were too afraid to tell anyone? They'd chosen me as their confidant. I'd be letting the person down. I'd be letting myself down. I hadn't driven to the park to hide in my car.

  I pushed open the door and glanced around. Two crows sat on the edge of a squat farm fence. One held something hard, a nut of some kind, in its beak and the other looked longingly at the treat. It, apparently, hoped its friend would either drop the nut or share it. My own crow would never have made it out in the wild. He grew impatient if his hard boiled eggs weren't delivered fast enough to his bowl.

  I scanned the area hoping there would be at least someone out picking bugs off a crop of lettuce or planting tomato seedlings. But it was late morning, and the farmers had already finished their morning chores and gone inside to cool off from the summer sun. The same hot sun had made the metal slide and swings unusable. It would be a good six hours before the playground equipment cooled down enough for use. I was utterly alone.

  I took a deep breath and walked around the corner to the mini park. A few pigeons scrounged in the grassy area looking for tidbits to eat, but they were the only sign of life. It was entirely possible the person got cold feet. Maybe they decided to go to the police after all.

  I patted my pocket to make sure my phone was still there as if it might have crawled out at some point during my short walk to the park. I sat on the picnic bench and realized after sitting for a few minutes in the deserted park that the hairs on the back of my neck were standing at attention. I spun around and a pair of eyes peered past the gnarled, rough trunk of the shade tree. I recognized Nora instantly. She stepped shyly out from her hiding place and glanced around nervously like a rabbit coming out of its hole.

  "I came alone if that's what you're worried about," I said.

  H
er stiff face relaxed into a weak smile. She came farther out from the shadows. A book was tucked under her arm. She joined me at the bench.

  "I figured I could trust you. That's why I left you the note." She placed the book on her lap. Her hands smoothed over it. A panoramic photo of cotton candy pink flamingos was spread across the glossy cover. The title read Birds of the World in lime green lettering.

  "You mentioned you had some information. I assume this is about the murder."

  Just the word caused her to sneak a peek around the park. "Yes, but I'm not sure if it's important. I just thought someone should know. I thought if I went to the police it would get me in trouble with the club. They'd find out and then I'd be kicked out for being a traitor or snitch. I'm already not in good standing with the club after my slideshow. I don't need to give them any other reason to kick me off the roster."

  "Obviously, the West Coast Bird Watching Society is very important to you," I said.

  "Bird watching is my life." Voices rolled up the road. Two teens on bicycles were pedaling along Culpepper Road. It seemed they might stop at the park, but they kept on riding.

  "Does the book you're holding have something to do with this?" I asked.

  She looked down at it and once again smoothed her hand over it. That was when I noticed a feather bookmark was sticking out from the center of the pages.

  "Yes, one picture in particular." Nora lifted the book and opened to the page marked with a feather. I didn't need to be too knowledgeable about birds to know I was looking at a California condor. The baldheaded bird was sitting high on its cliffside nest gently feeding its chick. It was quite the close up. It was hard to comprehend how the photographer even managed to get the impossible shot. It was not surprising to see a gold seal on the page declaring it the 2016 World Bird Society's Photo of the Year.

  "That is quite the shot. How on earth did they get it?"

  Nora looked up at me. "She had to rock climb up an adjacent cliff with a camera and telephoto lens. She sat up there for seven hours waiting for the mother to return from hunting."

  "She? So the photographer was a woman? Good for her." Just as I said it, I remembered something about a photo that Ivy took that Mason stole. My eyes dropped to the tiny print beneath the photo. "Photographer credit to Mason Fanning," I read aloud.

  "Yes, only Ivy took this picture. She used what we all consider an old-fashioned camera, the kind that requires film and developing. She was so thrilled about it. The entire society and our east coast counterparts were camping in the Sierra Nevada Mountains at the time. Ivy came back to camp exhausted and just about delirious with joy. She told us she had an award winning photo on her film. She didn't go into detail because she wanted to surprise us. We all went home from the trip. Ivy discovered someone had stolen the film from her camera. She was devastated, but there were over a hundred people on that trip. It was too hard to find the thief. A good year passed when suddenly news reverberated through the group that Mason Fanning had won the prestigious Photo of the Year award. He refused to give out any details and told us we'd have to wait for the book to come out." She tapped the book. "Every year bird watchers from around the world submit photos for the annual printing." Nora took a moment to make sure we were still alone. "You seem like a very smart woman, so I'm sure you've already put together the pieces. Naturally, Ivy put up a fuss and protested, insisting that she had taken the shot, but she had no proof. Mason had the film and the negative. He had stolen it, of course but Ivy couldn't prove it."

  "I don't like to speak badly of the dead, but he was not a nice man. He made such a stink about your slideshow when all along he knew he'd stolen Ivy's award winning photo."

  "He got all the credit, prestige and the five thousand dollar prize money." Nora closed the book. "You can imagine how angry and distraught Ivy was. She even quit the society for a few years. She just rejoined last year."

  The entire story was so shocking, I started putting together why Nora had brought it to my attention.

  "Do you think Ivy killed Mason?" I asked point blank.

  My question made her obviously uneasy. She shrank back into her shoulders and made herself smaller. "I don't know for sure. It's just that—" She looked anxiously around.

  It had just occurred to me after my initial fear that I'd been walking into some kind of trap that my secret informant might be in some danger of her own, thus putting us both in peril. Ridiculously, the first thought racing through my mind was 'boy, Briggs is going to be so mad if I get myself killed on this case'.

  I put my hand gently on hers. "Are you worried someone followed you?"

  She shook her head. "No, I don't think so," she said, shrinking down even more. Then she took a deep breath and returned halfway to her normal posture. "No, I'm sure not. It's just that I've never done anything like this before. I'm not a tattle tale." A smirk turned up her lips. "That was always Mason's job in the club. He loved to get people in trouble. But I'm off topic. Let me just leave you with this, then I'm going back to my hotel room to shelter until the detective tells us we're free to go. It's been an awful convention. We lost another member. Poor Peter, he slipped on rocks this morning."

  "Yes, I heard about that." Nora was so anxious she had a hard time staying focused. I directed her back. "You wanted to say something else?"

  "Yes, I'm sorry. I just can't keep my head straight. I don't know if Ivy had anything to do with the murder, but I've been wracking my brain, trying to figure out how I lost my knife. My memory is hazy because I've been in such a horrid state of mind after what Mason did to me. But I remember seeing the knife on my backpack when I sat down to eat my sandwich at the picnic. There were a lot of us at one table. Ivy was sitting a few places down from me. We'd put our packs in a pile behind the table so they wouldn't take up space. After my first bite, I glanced up and spotted what I was certain was an Anna's Hummingbird hovering over some flowering shrubs in the park." Nora smiled faintly, drifting momentarily away from the grave situation surrounding her. "Hummingbirds are a particular favorite of mine. I keep a journal describing every hummingbird observation and sighting. I find them fascinating."

  "I agree. They are wonderful." I gazed expectantly, waiting for the rest.

  She shook herself out of her hummingbird thoughts. "Right. I got up to follow the bird. It flitted along an entire hedgerow searching for the last blooms of early summer. It hovered in the area for a good ten minutes. When I returned to the table, some of the people had finished their sandwiches. They were milling about, making plans for the afternoon's excursions. Ivy was up and about. I sat down to finish my sandwich. That was when Mason decided he hadn't been cruel enough to me, so he taunted me about the morning at the coffee shop. I knew then I couldn't stick around with the group. He would only continue to harass me, and frankly, I couldn't stomach seeing his face or hearing his voice anymore. I got up from the table, grabbed my backpack from the pile and stormed back to my car. I was so heated and angry, I never noticed that the knife was gone."

  "So someone at the picnic took the knife," I said.

  "I can only assume since it was there when I put the backpack down. It has a pearl white handle, so it's easy to spot on my dark gray backpack."

  "Yes, I've seen it," I added, without thinking.

  Nora sat up straighter. "You have? See, I knew you were the person to talk to. Minnie told me you seemed to be close with the detective investigating the murder. She thought maybe you two were a couple."

  "Minnie is very observant. Yes, I assume I'm free to tell him about the entire photo scandal?"

  "Yes, just as long as I'm not named outright as the source of the information. I don't want to be kicked out of the club."

  "No problem. I'll tell him the source but let him know you want to stay anonymous." I needed to get back to the flower shop to avert disaster. "Thank you for letting me know about this. Can I take a quick picture of the book so I can tell James—Detective Briggs about it?"

  "You can borrow it
." She pressed it into my hands. "The feather is holding the place."

  We both stood from the bench.

  "I hope they catch who did this soon. I hate to think that someone in the society is a murderer," Nora said.

  "I'm sure that has to be very unsettling. Take care and keep in touch."

  I walked quickly to my car. As desperately as I wanted to get back to the shop and check in on my assistants, I had to make at least one pit stop—the Port Danby Police Station.

  Chapter 29

  I was in luck. Briggs had just gotten back to the station, Hilda kindly informed me before buzzing me through. I'd been rehearsing what to say, to make sure the part of the story where I snuck off to meet someone who left me a mysterious anonymous note would not be his central focus.