Carnations and Chaos Page 4

  He looked at me for a moment, and the tiniest twinkle lit up his dark eyes. "Why, Miss Pinkerton, you just listed those details for trespassing so perfectly, I'd almost think you'd done it yourself."

  Again with the chest touch. "Me? Never." I blinked a few times just to punctuate my innocence. "And I certainly had nothing to do with the inside doorknob breaking off. Nothing at all to do with that."

  "That's reassuring to hear." Briggs tossed a few cookie crumbs to a lone seagull. Instantly, seagulls dropped out of the sky, screeching and clamoring to get a piece of the cookie. "By the way, the Chesterton Library has better information. They still have those old microfiche machines, believe it or not.""

  "Somehow, I believe it." I put my arm up to ward off some of the winged chaos raining down over us. "Elsie is one heck of a baker. Even the gulls agree."

  The briny sea air had revived me, and I needed to head back to the shop and lock up for the night. I now had a greater urge to visit the Hawksworth Manor. I was in need of some mystery. "This walk has certainly refreshed me. But I should head back."

  "Me as well."

  Briggs and I turned back up the path toward Harbor Lane. We stopped in front of the Port Danby Police Station. The black and white police cruiser wasn't parked out front.

  "Where's Officer Chinmoor?"

  "He went home early to get ready for the dance," Briggs said with an edge of amusement.

  "Good for him. At least he's going to the dance." I shot him a pointed look.

  Briggs ignored my pointed look. "Yes, he's been looking forward to it. Well, I'll let you know if I need that million dollar nose of yours for any cases, Miss Pinkerton. Thank you for the walk."

  I tapped my nose. "Me and my trusty partner are ready for the call of duty anytime. Good afternoon, Detective Briggs."

  "Good afternoon, Miss Pinkerton."

  Chapter 8

  It had been an interminably long day, what with getting up before dawn and then working down at the fair. And it was far from over. The town square would start filling up for the dance in just a few hours. I had to admit, I had little enthusiasm for the event. It was going to be a lot of noise and people and, as Elsie mentioned, chaos. And after my long day, curling up with my cat, hot cocoa and a good book sounded much more inviting. But I was still new enough to Port Danby that I had to show enthusiastic support for town activities.

  On my way back to the flower shop, after my short, refreshing and unexpected walk with Detective Briggs, I'd stopped into the diner to make sure Franki's daughters were opening the gardener's shed for the afternoon. I was in luck. Franki had told me that Kimi and Kylie would be selling tickets until seven. They, of course, needed time to get ready for the dance. I knew there would be a big crowd up at the mansion for the rest of the weekend and decided this would probably be my only chance to look inside the museum.

  I decided to walk the short distance up Maple Hill to the mansion. Pillows of gunmetal gray clouds cluttered the deep blue horizon, signaling that the fair might not get off to a sunny start tomorrow. I'd checked my phone more than once and no rain was forecast, but the little white cloud icon was covering the yellow sun. It was just as well. People were going to be there to eat and buy cookbooks. They weren't in Port Danby for sunning on the beach. Tanning season was long gone.

  Extra signs warning visitors to not climb the fence or go inside the house had been posted. The last time I hiked the hill to the mansion had been during an early morning, last second decision. A heavy, dreary fog had shrouded the hill and the house, making it seem extra creepy. Tonight, under the moonlit sky and with the extra safety lights added on the path to the gardener's shed, the two tall turrets, pitched roofs and carved balustrades running along the porch and balcony looked far less sinister. Tonight, it looked more like a neglected old house than the notorious scene of a murder.

  I could hear giggles as I rounded the side of the house, following lights and lit arrows to the main attraction, the Hawksworth Museum. The gardener's shed had most likely been built the same time as the house. The shed was actually a small, barn shaped building with sliding front doors and two squat windows on each side. Unlike the house, which was slowly withering away into dust, the town had spent time and money to replace rotted wood and keep a fresh coat of green paint on the facade. It looked sparkling new compared to the drab mansion behind it.

  Bright lights had been set up in front of the entrance. Kimi and Kylie, Franki's fourteen-year-old identical twins were much easier to tell apart than their brothers, Taylor and Tyler. Especially since Kimi had decided to cut bangs in her shiny, toffee colored hair. Kylie had left hers long. They were both busy looking at something on a phone when I walked up.

  Kimi looked up. "Pink! You're here." She hopped off her fold-up chair and ran to give me a hug. Along with Elsie and Lola, Franki was one of the people I'd quickly formed a strong friendship with, and I adored her kids. Kimi took my hand and led me to the wobbly table that had been set up with a cash box and a roll of pink carnival tickets. "We've only sold four tickets, and it's almost time to close."

  I pulled my five dollar bill out. "There. Now you've sold five tickets."

  Kylie pulled off a ticket and handed it to me. I stared at it on my palm. "Who should I give it to?"

  They crumpled into simultaneous laughter. "That's what we were wondering," Kimi spurted between peals of laughter. "Yolanda told us to hand out tickets, so that's what we're doing."

  "Then good for you for following directions. I'll just put this in my pocket and wander inside."

  "Have fun," Kylie chirruped. "Oh, but could you kind of hurry? Kimi is going to crimp my hair before the dance."

  "I promise to just take a quick look around so you can be properly crimped in time for the dance."

  They giggled again as I walked into the shed. Gosh, I missed being fourteen . . . sort of.

  Of course, it was a well known, sobering fact that five dollars was considered only a small amount of money these days, but upon first glance at the Hawksworth Manor Museum, it seemed more effort could have been put into the contents, organization and overall display. After all, the town had gone through the trouble of keeping up the structure. They could have at least added a few paragraphs of description with each artifact.

  The shelves that held the items lined each side of the shed. The lighting was close to laughable. Admittedly, it was dark outside, but somehow, I'd expected more illumination. Most of the lighting ran down the center aisle of the shed, leaving very little glow for the historical pieces on display. The ill-placed lighting did give the entire place an earthy, macabre vibe. Two round topped, tufted armchairs, upholstered in faded gold damask fabric sat at the end of the shed. Strings of moonlight pierced some of the thin, open seams between the wood plank siding, giving the chairs a ghostly appearance. I could almost see a staid, grim-faced Victorian couple sitting on the chairs, watching with blank stares as people eyed their possessions. A small shiver raced through me, and I gave my upper body a shake to rid myself of the feeling.

  A pair of worn black lace up boots were the first item on the shelf. "Believed to be worn by Phoebe Hawksworth, the eldest of the three children," was what the one line summary stated. I blew a puff of air.

  "Believed to be? Someone was just guessing," I muttered. My own voice came back to me in the shadowy room. Someone had taken the time to mount several glittery hat pins in a glass box. The label only said 'hat pins'. I guess I could assume they didn't belong to Bertram Hawksworth. A non-descript copper kettle with some patina from use sat next to the hat pins. Its use was obvious, but there was no mention of where it was found or what it had to do with the family's murder. A tall copper coal basket sat next to the kettle. They were both items that could have easily been sitting in Lola's Antique shop. Again, no mention of their connection to the crime. I was beginning to realize that the shed was just a collection of items from the house. I turned and walked down the back side of the building where an interesting collectio
n of vintage garden tools was mounted as if someone had just been using them. I would have been interested to hear more about the infamous gardener of the estate, since he had been indicated as a motive for the murder. But there was no mention of him. Not even a picture of him with the odd, round handled spade or the funny trowel that looked more like a knife than a digging tool.

  I turned away from the gardening display and gasped as I stared into a pair of lifeless eyes. A porcelain doll, with only one shoe and painted on hair, stared back at me from her shelf. The black pupils and most of the blue of her eyes had been erased, giving the doll a frightful gray stare. A toy rocking horse that was decaying in the moisture of the shed still had most of its mane and tail. Back then they used real horse hair, which was thick and durable and could apparently stand the test of time.

  I gasped once more as a familiar beak pointed at me. Taxidermy was quite popular in Victorian times. People even had their dogs and horses stuffed. It seemed the Hawksworth family (perhaps due to their surname) were interested in birds. The stuffed crow and owl both still had a remarkable amount of plumage left. The crow made me shiver again.

  I'd had enough of my museum visit. I turned toward the exit and noticed a large trunk beneath one of the shelves. I crouched down in front of it and pulled on the rusted lock, but it didn't budge.

  Kimi and Kylie were folding up their chairs none too subtly. It was my cue to leave.

  I helped them carry the table into the shed. "What's in that old trunk under the last shelf?" I asked.

  "I don't know if it's ever been opened. Not sure why they bothered to put it there. I've heard it was the hope chest for the eldest daughter. Sheets and bedding and things for when she got married. Lot of good that hope chest did her," Kimi said before abruptly changing to a subject of greater interest. "Are you wearing your new boots tonight, Pink? My mom said you bought a slick new pair of go-go boots from the Mod Frock."

  "I hadn't really given it much thought." We turned off the lights and slid shut the door. "Maybe I will."

  Kylie put on the padlock. She patted the pocket of her sweatshirt and pulled out several old pictures. "Darn it, I forgot to put these back. They kept blowing off the wall."

  I took hold of the pictures and squinted at them under the light on the front of the shed. They were old brown and white, faded pictures of people dressed in early twentieth century garb. "Is this the Hawksworth family?"

  "Yep," Kimi said. "But I warn you, the last picture is creepy. It's the one the police took of the murder scene. I hate to look at it."

  The light was poor, but I could see a faded image of two people stretched out on the floor in the same room I'd snuck into that foggy morning, the room with the green painted paneling and the piano. "Can I take these home to get a closer look?"

  "Doesn't bother us," Kylie said with a shrug. "Can't keep those darn things on the wall anyhow. And everyone is more interested in the creepy stuff like the birds and the doll." Kylie put her hand over her mouth. "Oh my gosh. We should have warned you about the dead crow. I hope it didn't bother you too much."

  "Not at all. But I do prefer live crows to stuffed ones."

  We walked down the pathway together. "Especially when they're cool like Kingston," Kimi added.

  Headlights circled over the property as a car came up the hill. "There's Mom. Come on, Kylie. We've got to get ready for the dance. See you there, Pink. Hey, do you want a ride down?"

  "Nope, I'm fine. And thanks for lending me the pictures." I pushed the photos into the pocket of my sweatshirt and headed downhill to home.

  Chapter 9

  The strands of gold lights Dash had strung swayed lightly in the breeze, making all the shadows sway along with them. The glow reflected off the white canopy tops on the fair booths. The fountain that I had yet to see running with water had been filled with blue and pink balloons, giving them the look of giant colorful bubbles. A sparkling drink waterfall gurgled with pink lemonade next to a mouthwatering display of fair treats. The center of the square, which was mostly cracked and worn cement, had been covered with dark pieces of laminate, creating a makeshift dance floor. Speakers dangled from the lampposts blasting out every form of music from soft rock to country. All danceable tunes if the partner was right. And if my mod boots hadn't been killing my feet.

  Lester wiped his face with his napkin attempting to erase the smudge of barbecue sauce. The song ended and Lola walked off the dance floor with Marian Fitch's nephew, Parker. I knew he wasn't even close to her type, but there just weren't that many unattached men for dance partners. The one person I'd planned to dance with, my highly popular neighbor, had been snagged long before I arrived at the dance. Kate Yardley, the owner of Mod Frock Vintage Boutique, had barely let Dash out of her sight all night. I was somewhat relieved not to have to dance. My nose might have been super, but my dance moves, not so much.

  Elsie walked over with a coconut cupcake from the Cupcake Trolley booth. Apparently, back home in Indiana, Carla and Diane were the masters of the cupcake world. They had even expanded their business into a mobile bakery with a cupcake truck.

  Elsie made a face as she took a bite of the cake. (It wasn't a hmm, that's delicious face.) "Dry crumb and the frosting leaves a film on the top of my mouth." She rolled her eyes. "Cupcake masters, indeed."

  Lester folded up his grease stained paper plate. "Well, those Barbecue Boyz are talented. And I think Lola has her sights set on the one with the handlebar moustache."

  The three of us glanced the direction of the barbecue booth. Lester might have been right in his assessment. After leaving the dance floor with Parker, my somewhat boy crazy friend had gone straight back to the Barbecue Boyz.

  "Look who's talking," Elsie quipped. "You've had so many of those ribs, I'm just waiting for you to ask those boys to move to town."

  "Do you think they'd consider it?" Lester asked.

  Elsie waved her hand at him. "And you have all kinds of sauce on your chin. I should have brought some wet wipes with me."

  "Ah ha, that reminds me." Lester dug something out of his pocket. He held up the square packet with the Barbecue Boyz logo. "These boys are genius. They even have their own wet wipes." He ripped it open and rubbed it on his chin. "How come you aren't dancing, Lacey?"

  I looked pointedly down at my shiny black boots. They were perfectly mod and sixties in every way, and they sure had looked wonderful in the shop window. "Because, Les, I lost feeling in all ten toes about thirty minutes after I zipped these boots on. I guess I should have given them a longer test drive in the store."

  "But you look adorable in that mini skirt and boots, Pink," Elsie noted. "If that makes you feel any better about the purchase."

  "It does. And as long as I survive the night without losing any toes, I might even wear them again. Just not to a dance."

  Lola tore herself away from the barbecue booth to come say hello. "You need to dance, Pink," she insisted. "There's some good music. You should just walk right up to Dash and steal him away from Kate. She's been glued to him all night."

  "Nope, I'm fine right here, Lola. How was the dance with Parker?"

  "Who? Oh, him. I feel bad for him. His aunt is a tyrant." Lola squeezed her voice to a harsh angry sound to mimic the aunt. "Parker, do this. Parker, do that. Parker, you're doing that all wrong. She even told him he was clumsy on the dance floor right in front of me. I thought the poor guy would melt into a puddle right there in front of the Sugar Lips banner."

  "Yep, that's the woman I remember from pastry school," Elsie said. She squinted at something across the way. "And speaking of the pastry school reunion, it looks like Twyla Walton has visited the craft beer section of the barbecue booth once too often. Dash is having to help her off the dance floor."

  Elsie's assessment seemed about right. Twyla looked a little unbalanced. Dash was politely leading her off the floor before she landed on her face. He wasn't two feet away from Twyla when Celeste Bower of Sweet Cherry Pie grabbed his arm for a dance.


  "Well, he is the finest man out here," Lola noted.

  I sighed. "I suppose." My gaze swept around for about the tenth time that evening hoping to catch a glimpse of Detective Briggs. It seemed he'd kept true to his word and stayed away from the dance.

  "Looking for someone," Elsie asked in that tone that assured me she knew exactly who.

  "Nope, just taking in the grand splendor of it all. Yolanda did a great job. I think this weekend is going to go very smoothly."

  "I agree," Elsie said. "I wasn't too sure at first, but as long as the weather holds, it should be a great event."

  Just as she finished her statement, an angry yell rang out during the lull between songs. Our curious gazes followed the voice. Twyla was standing in front of the Sugar Lips booth pointing angrily at Marian Fitch. Fitch sat calmly, a mask of ice, as she listened to Twyla's rant. "You stole my recipe and I will never forgive you! Shame on you, Marian Fitch. You couldn't bake your way out of a donut hole. Your cookbook is a fake."

  An awkward silence had swept through the crowd as all attention turned to the thin, red haired woman in the green dress. My feet moved her direction before my mind had even told me to do so. Twyla had had too much beer, and she was going to regret this scene tomorrow. I decided to cut it short, for her sake. And because the woman she was scolding couldn't have cared less. But before I reached Twyla, the tall handsome center of all the women's attention had rushed to her side. Dash was, as always, chivalrous, and as he led Twyla away from the scene, I could almost hear every woman in the square release a dreamy sigh.

  I headed back. My services were not needed.

  The music started up again, but the early guitar strums were drowned out by the rumble of a motorcycle. We turned in the direction of the noise.

  The motorcycle rider stopped and climbed off the bike. There was something about the way he walked in his black motorcycle boots that seemed oddly familiar. He took off his helmet. I sucked in a quiet, little breath.