A Crafty Killing Read online

  "I'm starved," Jackson said. "Didn't get a chance to eat breakfast."

  We sat down next to each other. "Would you agree that someone who kills by lethal injection would have to have some knowledge about drawing up medicine into a syringe and giving an injection?"

  He nodded as he finished chewing his first bite. "Yes, I've already taken that into consideration but then the coroner reminded me there are a lot of people who don't have medical training, but they use injections everyday for their health or for their animals. Not to mention, it would be easy enough to learn. And if you're going to tell me about Larry Royce's old job, I already know he was a phlebotomist before he went full time in ceramics."

  I sat up straighter. "Yes but did you know about his wife?"

  Jackson stared at me as he finished another big bite. He was one of those skilled burger eaters who could finish a quarter pounder in four bites, a skill he was far too proud of.

  "Give me some credit as a detective, Miss Super Sleuth. I know she died by suicide."

  "Of course I give you credit, but did you know that Joyce Royce—" I paused and had to suppress an ill-timed giggle. "That's the first time I said her full name, and I just realized it rhymes. I wish I had a name that rhymed."

  "Like Sunni Honey? Or Sunni Bunny? Or how about Sunni Funny?"

  I elbowed him to stop. "Never mind. Sunni is probably silly enough. My mom's quest to pick something unique, then she decided it was probably not the best idea and went back to the traditional baby name book for Emily."

  "And Lana?" he asked.

  "After the movie star, of course. Anyhow, back to the case. I'm determined to solve this long before Dave Crockett."

  Jackson wiped off his hands and glanced back to the order window. "I wonder if I should order a second one? The first one barely registered."

  I pushed mine toward him. "Here you go. My mind is spinning. I can't concentrate on food."

  "You're sure?" he asked as he was already lifting the burger to his mouth.

  "Yes, eat, and let me talk. One of the other vendors, Juniper, the woman with the mini gardens, told me that Henrietta Lopez was responsible for Joyce's successful cookie business going bust. Joyce was having trouble with her hands and wrists from overuse, so she started buying undecorated cookies from a bakery. Henrietta decided she was no longer Crafting Society material and stripped her of her membership. But that's not all. She also put the word out that Joyce was no longer baking her own cookies. Her business was ruined. Larry corroborated the whole thing." Before he could finish his bite, I continued. "Now, I know you're going to lecture me about approaching a possible killer, but how else am I to get to the bottom of this?"

  Jackson swallowed and wiped his mouth. "I'm not going to lecture you because Larry isn't the killer."

  My posture deflated. "He's not? But he had motive. His wife—"

  "He was here giving a pottery demonstration during the window of time Katy was killed. He couldn't have killed Katy, so it's highly unlikely he killed Henrietta." He peered at me with a lifted brow. "Again, I am a detective. Larry was high on the list after Henrietta's murder, but Katy's death knocked him right down. He was here, at the fair, with many witnesses watching him make a clay pot."

  My shoulders slumped. "Darn it. I was sure I had motive and the whole phlebotomy thing was working in my favor. You just blew it all out of the water with your confident, and slightly cocky, I might add, inconvenient details."

  "Sorry to burst that bubble. I'm here to find out which vendors had stepped away from their kiosks during the hours of Katy's murder between nine and noon. It's not easy. There's no sign in sheet or parking lot cameras. I'm relying on what people remember from that time period. So far, there has been at least one person of interest who was also away from her kiosk during the time period."

  I reenergized my posture and my ears perked forward. "Who?"

  "You can't say anything to Crockett. Something tells me that guy would run with whatever nugget was tossed his way, even if he had no confirmation from the police."

  "Are you kidding?" I asked incredulously. "I wouldn't tell that man what size shoe I wear let alone details about the murder. Not that Prudence hasn't forced my hand some. She just happened to know the mother or aunt or some such thing of one of the medics at Katy Michaels' murder scene. She knew I was there, and she insisted I tell Dave everything I knew. I may have left out a few details. I gave him the same amount of information he could have gotten straight from the medic. It's just like working with Chase Evans, only worse."

  Jackson balled up the burger wrappers. "How is it worse? Other than the inconvenient fact that Crockett is dating your sister."

  "Ugh, don't remind me of that major thorn. It's worse because at least Parker didn't coddle and spoil and praise Chase. The only reason Chase had a job was because of his connection to the owner, and Parker made sure he understood that . . . almost every day. Prudence treats Dave like he's some kind of royalty, and he doesn't make any attempt to stop her. So trust me when I tell you, you will not have to worry about me divulging investigative secrets to Dave Crockett. Is it Violet?" I asked eagerly. "It's Violet, isn't it?"

  His smile showed a nice degree of pride. "Yes, it's Violet. She has a few things against her now. One, she's a nurse, which should put her in the category of helpful and caring to others, but it also means she's skilled and has access to syringes. Her motive is thin though. The fight with Henrietta the day before the fair is hardly motivation for murder, and it doesn't explain why she would kill Katy Michaels. Then there's the possibility that the killer was someone who knew both victims, had motive to kill them but wasn't part of this craft fair. We're looking into connections they might have outside of the Crafting Society. Haven't found anything yet. Then there's another part of the puzzle—how did the killer get cyanide? It's not that easy to get your hands on cyanide in liquid form these days. I've got my team researching possible sources but nothing yet."

  "At least there is a finite group of possible killers. Henrietta's attacker had to be at the fair opening morning."

  Jackson glanced around the venue. "This is a fairly open public space. To get in that morning, the killer would have had to climb a back fence, but it's still possible."

  "No, don't say that. Then it'll be harder than ever to solve this case, and I'm determined to get it done. I need to prove to Prudence that she has made a big mistake putting Dave in the lead reporter position." Just hearing me say it aloud made me feel depressed and slightly pathetic. "I'm having to do this all over again, Jax. I'm having to prove my worth as a reporter. Why can't I be taken seriously?"

  He leaned over and kissed my forehead. "For what it's worth, Bluebird, you're the best reporter, investigator and girlfriend a guy could have. Maybe you should stop trying to prove yourself to people. You already know how good you are at your job. Let that be enough."

  "You're right. Of course, you're right. But it's hard." We stood up from the bench. "Still, I'm going to solve this and prove to myself that I'm good at my job."

  Jackson hugged me tightly. "I have no doubt you'll solve the crime. Just stay out of danger."

  I peered up at him with an innocent blink. "I'll try my very best."

  "Not very reassuring but it'll have to do."

  Chapter 31

  The shopping crowds picked up after lunch. I found myself wandering around, not able to talk to many of the vendors. I hated to admit that I was somewhat lost in the investigation. I blamed it on the craziness at work. As I left the fair with scant information, motives and suspects pinging around in my brain, I got a text from Lana to meet for dinner at Layers. She said we needed to have a sisterly talk. It was pretty much the last thing I needed, but I couldn't say no.

  I mentally practiced many different speeches about Dave Crockett but hadn't landed on a single one by the time I pulled up to Layers. Lana was just climbing out of her truck, which meant I wouldn't be using the last few minutes of walking into the restaurant to make my fi
nal choice.

  Lana hugged me, unusual for her. "My treat since I invited you," she chirped. Also unusual. (Both the cheery tone and the offer to pay.)

  Since I'd handed my burger over to Jackson at lunch, my stomach had been doing its share of growling. The aromas and tantalizing menu at Layers really got it moving. Loud enough that Lana heard it.

  She laughed. "What happened? Did you skip lunch or something? Did you ever get the stomach growls in the middle of a college lecture? I was horrified when that happened." Lana was also being extremely chatty, which was not at all normal. Emily and I could chat up a storm when we got together, but Lana just wasn't the type. She didn't have much time for frivolities like sister banter.

  "I very generously handed my lunch over to Jackson. Now I'm going to make up for it." I ordered a layered bowl called the Elizabeth Taylor. It had everything under the sun and was smothered in melted jack cheese. No idea how the name correlated with the ingredients, but I wasn't going to question it. I was hungry.

  Lana ordered an Elizabeth Taylor too, and the two of us found a table near the back of the restaurant. Layers was more of a lunch spot, so it was always nice and quiet in the evening.

  Lana ripped open a sugar packet for her tea. "How was work today? Did I hear right? There was another murder? This is a craft fair Firefly Junction is never going to forget."

  "If it keeps going like this, then there might not be any more craft fairs. Can't have one without the actual artists." I plunged a straw into my soda.

  "You know me, Sunni, I never like to beat around the bush. How is it working with Dave? He mentioned that he was covering the murder cases. I know that's usually your job." There was enough concern in her expression to make me suppress what I really wanted to say.

  "It's fine, Lana. I'm starting to think more towards the inn and having easier, lighter stories to write will give me the spare time to do that."

  She sat back, disappointed at my answer, which in turn disappointed me. I thought I'd chosen the most diplomatic response. Clearly not.

  "But you hate light stories. You've got to be honest with me, sis. I know you too well. You're not happy, are you?" Lana's distaste for chit-chat had made her an expert at getting right to the point.

  I had to choose my words carefully and make them sound convincing. Not an easy task considering how I was truly feeling. "If I'm being honest, then I do wish Dave was a doctor or pharmacist rather than a reporter."

  She smiled weakly. "Me too. More money." Aside from getting straight to the point, she was always consistent and unromantically practical. "Seriously though, I don't think this is going to work. I'm going to break it off with Dave."

  I sat forward. "No, don't do that. It's fine, Lana. I can deal with it. I certainly don't want to be the cause of your breakup. I'd never forgive myself."

  "And I'll never forgive myself if I contribute to your unhappiness by dating a man who will clearly be a nemesis in your career." She brushed aside some fallen sugar. "My mind is made up. Besides, I don't know if Dave is even right for me."

  I lifted a brow to show her I was scrutinizing her words carefully. "Sooo, this is more about your feelings for the man than about my job."

  She shifted uncomfortably on her seat, also unusual. Lana never fidgeted or squirmed. "Of course it's about your job, but I've been thinking the two of us aren't really suited. And I'm so busy with my business, I just don't have time for a relationship."

  "Let me just say this then—if you break up with him, do it because you think it's right for you. Keep me entirely out of the equation." I glanced past her toward the door as a familiar voice caught my attention.

  I dropped back and tried to slump down low enough to hide. "Don't look but my true nemesis just walked into the restaurant."

  Lana's eyes rounded. "You mean Dave?"

  I scoffed. "No, he's not my true nemesis."

  "Yoo hoo, Sunni, I see you there. Can't hide from me," Prudence called across the dining room. She ordered quickly, marched over on her shiny shoes and stood over the table with a large grin, waiting for me to introduce her to Lana.

  "Prudence Mortimer, this is my sister, Lana."

  Prudence's hand shot out so fast her purse knocked the table causing our drinks to splash over the glass rims. "Lana, we finally meet. I've heard so much about you."

  Lana looked questioningly at me. I shook my head in response.

  "Dave has mentioned that he has a wonderful new girlfriend who runs a successful party planning business. He's quite impressed with your business skills. I'm thinking of adding a column to the paper to highlight local business owners. I'd love to start the column by interviewing you." It seemed Prudence, with zero journalism experience, was going to write articles for her paper.

  Lana was flattered. Her cheeks grew pink, and her eyes glassy with excitement. Free publicity in the paper always made good business sense and good business sense always made my sister happy. "That would be wonderful. Thank you for thinking of me."

  "I would love to take credit, but it was actually Dave's idea." Prudence pointed at the seat next to her. "Do you mind if I join you girls? I hate to eat alone." She sat before we confirmed our invite. "It'll take a few months to get the column started. I have so many things to do to get the paper and the newspaper office in order, but you'll be first on the list." She settled into the seat and smiled at me. "How is the craft fair story going? I can't believe what's happening. Here I insisted on nice, homey stories. I thought the craft fair would be the perfect topic. Now it's turned into a terrible tragedy. Katy Michaels was a terrific wreath maker. I have two of her spring wreaths just waiting to be popped on my front doors."

  I was relieved she'd barreled right past her question to blather on about everything that came to mind. I'd come to Layers for a dinner with my sister, not a staff meeting. I had enough of those to contend with during the work day.

  The food was delivered, but that didn't slow down Prudence. No wonder she didn't like to eat alone, she had so much to say. I concentrated on my Liz Taylor bowl while Lana and Prue discussed Prudence's Christmas party. She decided right then that she would hire Lana to plan it. My sister was pleased to gain a new client, but I wondered if it was wise for them to make a pact so far in advance of the actual event. After all, what if Lana's relationship with Dave did end? Or maybe that was all just wishful thinking on my part.

  "Sunni, you never said," Prudence stepped right back into her conversation. "How is the craft fair going despite the unpleasant glitches?"

  Glitches didn't seem quite right for two cold blooded murders but then Prudence did like to gloss over things. "So far the shoppers have been mostly staying away. I'm afraid the glitches have people a little on edge."

  Prudence picked up a knife and fork to cut her salad into small bite sized pieces. Lana was concentrating on her bowl, relieved to have the focus off her.

  "Is that strange woman, Juniper Carlson, there? What's she up to now? Mini gardens or something like that?"

  "Yes, I've spoken to Juniper. She knows quite a bit about the local artisans. Her gardens are cute," I added.

  Her mouth pursed to show her disagreement. "My friend, Beverly, bought one of those gardens. The plants died in weeks. She was left with a decorative container of soil and little glass animals. But still, it's hard not to feel a little sorry for Juniper. Even as a young girl, she was always trying to fit in, but she was so odd."

  For the first time since she sat down, Prudence had my interest. "I found her pleasant. So you knew her as a child?"

  "Yes, yes indeed. I'm a good ten years older than Juni, but her sister Natalie and I were friends. Their father was the local doctor. That was back when small town doctors still made house calls. Juni used to tag along with her dad and hold his bag and hand him things he needed. I always thought she would become a doctor herself. She knew so much. Juni lives in the family's old house. Dr. Carlson was a bit of an oddball himself. He had a science lab set up in the basement. He loved to do ex
periments. A mad scientist type, only he was a decent doctor."

  It turned out having Prudence sit down at the table wasn't as big a calamity as I'd predicted. The information she was handing out, details about Juniper's childhood I probably never would have discovered on my own, was more than intriguing. It had started some wheels spinning in my investigative mind. It might very well lead to nothing, but there was only one way to find out. I needed to get back to the craft fair first thing in the morning.

  Chapter 32

  A wavering winter sun was just starting to warm the chilled air as I climbed into the jeep and headed off for the fair. Lana and I both benefited from Prudence's intrusion on our dinner. Lana had a new client whose budget seemed to have no limits, and I learned something interesting about Juniper. She knew a little about medicine. If what Prudence mentioned was true, that she went with her dad on house calls, it reasonably followed that Juniper probably knew something about syringes and injections.

  My newest theory wasn't all that far-fetched. Juniper had told me that she'd tried to get into the Crafting Society but was denied membership. It was a shallow, trite reason to kill someone, but people had killed for less. I hadn't revealed my new theory to Jackson because it was still too unsubstantiated. (And if I was being honest, I genuinely loved to discover big revelations on my own.)

  There was a line of shoppers waiting to get into the fair. Good news for the vendors. So far the day had started without any calamities or death. Maybe the killer had taken out the two people on their list.

  Juniper was once again working on her quaint church garden, trimming some of the plants on the edges. She leaned back, tilted her head, apparently spotted something that needed more trimming and snipped off a tiny branch. Jackson had mentioned that the clean crime scenes showed the killer had an attention to detail. Juniper certainly had that.

  "Good morning," I said as I approached her kiosk.