Dahlias and Death Read online

  "Do you want me to drive you?" Dad asked. "I could help you deliver herbs."

  Mom placed the ribbon spool she'd been rewinding back on the dowel. "Let's all go, Stan. I'd like to take a walk on the beach."

  Chapter 11

  The scene at the park was hectic but festive. Colorful red, white and blue paper pinwheels dangled from the marina lights. Strings of star shaped bulbs were hung along the shops on the pier and tiny flags were waving everywhere. My parents had headed out for their walk along the beach. They really seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  I helped Jenny finish setting up the garden club booth. We fought the afternoon coastal breeze the entire time but managed to finally anchor our garden club sign to the table with large stones. The herbs I donated were still small enough that they stood easily in their teeny pots waiting to be taken to their new homes.

  Jenny adjusted her rhinestone hat to keep the sun off her face as she ran through her check off sheet.

  "Shouldn't Molly be here helping?" I asked. Of course, I hadn't mentioned the whole bakery pie scandal to Jenny. Elsie had told me in confidence, and I certainly didn't want to step into the center of a sticky situation.

  "Molly always finds excuses to avoid helping," Jenny said with a head shake. "Sometimes, I don't know why she bothers to be a member. All she ever does is complain and hurt Carla's feelings."

  "Yes, I noticed some tension there."

  Jenny elbowed me discretely. "Speaking of Carla. Here she comes with her husband, Vernon." Jenny spoke quickly to fill me in. "Every year, Vernon bids on my picnic basket. We both grew up in the same region in Georgia. Vernon says my fried chicken tastes just like his mom's. Carla gets so mad but that doesn't stop him. Guess my chicken is worth a few days of ice from the wife. And that woman is always so suspicious and jealous. She thinks everyone is after Vernon. Can't tell you how often she's told me she thought there was funny business going on between other women and her husband. I'd like to be honest and tell her no one would be interested but I don't want to be mean."

  I squinted across the way to the oddly matched couple walking toward us. Vernon was indeed, much shorter and slighter than his wife. He had a full head of red hair and skin that was white as powder and dotted with freckles. His pale skin had a slightly cadaverous glow which looked almost blue in the sunlight. "Why does he—"

  "Look like a shiny corpse?" Jenny asked. She spoke quickly again. "A special prescription sun block for his fair skin." Jenny straightened and raised the volume on her voice. "Carla, Vernon, I wondered where you guys were."

  Carla smiled at me. "Lacey, this is my husband, Vernon."

  He nodded politely and reached out his hand. My nose was instantly overtaken by the strong smell of sun block. Only instead of the usual fruity fragrance, this one smelled like vanilla.

  Vernon did seem to have a leering stare to go with a somewhat creepy grin. Maybe Carla's suspicions weren't that far off.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Mayor Price's booming voice thundered through an auctioneer's microphone. "We are about start the picnic basket auction. Please make your way to the stand."

  I glanced around for familiar faces and saw Ryder walking toward the auction. My parents were heading up the steps at the far side of the pier. No sign of Lola, or, more importantly, my basket buyer. It seemed my prediction that Briggs wouldn't bother to stop by for the auction was coming true. How humiliating it would be to have no one buy my basket and right in front of the mayor. I was sure that would make his day.

  I peeled off from the rest of the crowd and stood closer to the steps that led to the beach, thinking I could make a quick, humiliated exit if necessary. The auction started with Jenny's basket. Mayor Price started the bids off at five dollars, but Vernon ended it quickly with his twenty dollar bid. I had to hand it to the guy, he was standing in the glowering shadow of a wife who looked like she could pound him into the ground with a few good thwacks on the head, but he still bought the basket. Jenny pressed her hand to her chest in feigned surprise as if she wasn't expecting it.

  Then came the part I hadn't expected. Jenny walked forward with her basket, took hold of Vernon's proffered arm and the two wandered off to eat the meal.

  "What on earth?" I asked myself quietly.

  "What on earth what?" Lola chirped from behind. She had dressed for the occasion by replacing her faded vintage Led Zeppelin shirt with a newer Rolling Stones tee. She'd pushed an olive green fedora down over her thick hair for another touch of class.

  I motioned toward Jenny and Vernon, who were heading down to the beach with their fried chicken. "The person who buys the basket then eats with the basket filler?" I asked.

  "What did you think?"

  "Uh, that they took the thing back to their car or wherever and ate it in solitude. Now my basket is going to look extra pathetic when it's left behind on the auction stand."

  Lola searched the crowd. "You're right. I don't see Detective Briggs. This doesn't really seem like his thing. I don't think I've ever seen him take part in the auction."

  "Wish you'd mentioned that before I put the thing together. Would have saved me a great deal of humiliation. Then to have Mayor Price standing there begging some poor sap to offer a buck or two—ugh. I should just head home right now."

  "Why would you do that?" Mom asked.

  Lola and I turned back. My parents had finished their stroll on the beach. Dad's cheeks were so red from the wind it looked as if he'd dipped into Mom's blush.

  "She doesn't want to suffer the embarrassment of no one bidding on her basket," Lola said airily. She was smiling about her proclamation until she caught my expression. Her mouth straightened into a grim line. "Guess I should have kept that nugget closer to the chest, eh?"

  "Yep."

  Dad pulled out his wallet. "Nothing to worry about, kiddo. I've got three dollars and I'm going to place the whole wad down on the first bid."

  "I'm going to go down to the sand and bury my head," I muttered from the side of my mouth so only Lola could hear. She was too busy fighting off a laugh to pay attention.

  Her eyes widened and she stood up straighter. "There's my basket. It used to have a bunch of balls of yarn in it, so hopefully the sandwich isn't going to have tufts of wool all over it."

  "Ryder would still eat it like it was lobster and steak." I looked Ryder's direction. The second Mayor Price read the name on the basket, he stood up tall and at attention. He quickly scanned and easily found Lola in the crowd. A few seconds later, he was plopping down a whopping forty bucks for the basket. A generous bid that earned a round of applause from the crowd.

  "Oh jeez," Lola muttered. "I wish I'd slapped together a better sandwich." She headed toward the stand to pick up her basket.

  "Well, at least you garnished it with wool," I called, now feeling some revenge for her blurting my humiliating predicament to my parents. Dad was standing anxiously by with his three dollars, but he seemed to be rethinking the whole thing after hearing Ryder's bid.

  "You know, Stan," Mom said. "I made that sandwich. You could at least break out the debit card. I'm sure they'll take it."

  "What for? I get your sandwiches for free at home. And I don't have to eat them in the sand."

  I turned to him and kissed his cheek. "Dad, I love you but if you bid on my basket at any amount, I will climb under the covers of my bed and not come out again until New Year's."

  Reluctantly, he jammed the wallet back into his pocket. "I understand, kiddo."

  Seconds later, Mayor Price said my name through the megaphone. I was certain I heard a sneer in his tone, but it was hard to hear over my pounding heartbeat. I turned to my parents. "Why don't we head home. I'm done here tonight."

  "What do I hear for the first bid?" I could hear the mocking in Mayor Price's tone.

  "But, dear, let's at least wait to see how much your basket fetches," Mom said.

  "No one is going to bid on it, Mom."

  "Twenty dollars," a voice came through the crowd. I di
dn't need to follow the sound of it. It was Dash.

  Mom pinched my elbow hard enough for me to squeak in protest. "It's that handsome neighbor of yours." She seemed to think she was whispering, but it bordered more on a loud mumble.

  "Yes, Mom, I recognize him." I was stunned to hear Dash bid on it, especially after I'd turned down his date offer. I couldn't find Kate in the crowd, so I passed it off as Dash being hungry and Kate not showing up with a basket.

  "Thirty dollars," the next bid came through the crowd from another familiar voice, one that sent a slight tremble to my knees.

  Mom practically jumped into the air to get a look at the second bidder. Detective Briggs had left his coat behind, a smart move in the summer heat. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up and the collar was open. The casual, yet official, attire looked exceptionally good on him. Neither man looked my direction. Their focus was on the basket.

  "Forty," Dash called over the heads of the spectators. His offer sent a mild, curious rumble through the group.

  "Fifty," Briggs yelled.

  Mom squeezed my arm again. She finally spotted the second bidder as he stepped closer to the stand in his stark white shirt. "Is that—?"

  "Yes, that's Detective Briggs." My pulse was racing and splattering in every direction. The auction was not turning out quite the way I'd predicted. Mayor Price's mouth looked like he'd been sucking on a lemon. He seemed reluctant to ask for the next bid. But that didn't stop Dash.

  "Sixty dollars," Dash called.

  A much louder mumble rolled through the crowd. I wondered just how many rumors were going to be started from this one public event.

  "Maybe they know I made the sandwich," Mom suggested.

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence," I whispered back.

  Dad moved forward to stand next to me and watch more closely. "It's not your sandwich, Peggy. It's my little girl. Everyone wants to spend time with her. Can't blame them."

  I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. I was feeling extra nervous and giddy, like I was back in high school. It was nice having my always level-headed dad nearby.

  "A hundred dollars!" Briggs' offer caused a collective gasp in the crowd that was loud enough to send the three persistent seagulls waiting around to see if one of the baskets was for them into the sky.

  I'd been keeping my head low but I knew a lot of attention was being shot my way. I snuck a surreptitious peek Dash's direction. His face had dropped along with his shoulders. He walked away dejectedly. I wasn't sure how to feel except I knew which man I wanted to win the basket.

  "Sold to Detective Briggs for a hundred dollars," Mayor Price said with far less enthusiasm than it required.

  "I'm glad I stuck one of Elsie's brownies in the basket," Mom said.

  Dad's eyes widened with surprise.

  "Yes, it's all been smoothed over," I muttered to him. "I'll tell you later."

  "Miss Pinkerton, come pick up your basket." Price always said my name with a twinge of distaste.

  A glaring silence fell over the crowd and every face turned my direction.

  "Oh my," Mom chirped and waved. "Hello, everyone. Beautiful town, by the way."

  "Peg, they are looking at Lacey, not you," Dad grumbled under his breath.

  Everyone parted like the Red Sea as I walked toward the stand. Curious, amused gazes, some familiar, some unfamiliar, followed me. It felt a little like walking through the gauntlet.

  "Hello," I said here and there. "Happy Birthday America, am I right?" I added.

  I made a point of smiling at Mayor Price. He glowered back at me. His usual response. I grabbed the basket and found Briggs. He was wearing that slightly lopsided smile. My heart melted and a herd of butterflies kicked up in my stomach. The man just bid a hundred dollars for a sandwich and a brownie. Maybe there was more to our relationship than I realized. Then a slap of reality struck me. Or the wild bidding war might just have had to do with the personal war going on between the two men.

  Chapter 12

  Briggs and I hardly spoke as we headed toward the grassy knoll in front of the lighthouse. I finally broke the silence.

  "Hope you won't be too disappointed."

  He looked at me in question.

  "With the picnic basket, I mean."

  "I won't be. I'm paying more for the company than the food."

  I dropped my face to hide the blush warming my cheeks. It was rare when he talked like that. It was even rarer for me to blush at something.

  We sat down on the grass, and Briggs placed the basket down in front of us. The sun was close to setting behind the horizon and the dusky pink sky hovering over the ocean made for a lovely picnic backdrop.

  "How is work?" I asked. "Busy?"

  "Actually, it's been kind of dull. Not too much going on. It's good news but it makes the work day slow." Briggs leaned back on his hands. His tanned forearms flexed below the rolled up shirt sleeves.

  "Well, I wouldn't worry about that for too long. I can smell trouble in the air."

  Briggs squinted one eye as he grinned at me. "I knew that nose could smell a speck of cinnamon a mile away, but I didn't realize it could smell trouble."

  I shrugged. "Maybe that's more my intuition than my nose. It just seems things have been a little too quiet. Don't you think?"

  "The old calm before the storm theory?" And just as he said it, the air filled with a thunderous sound like the beating of forty whale hearts. There were sputters and coughs in between an explosive rattling sound that sent every bird and ground squirrel in the vicinity running for cover. I jumped to my feet in alarm, but Briggs reached into the basket for his overpriced sandwich.

  "That's Burt Bower. He goes out fishing every night in July and returns at exactly 7:30. You can set a watch by it. His boat should be laid to rest at the bottom of the sea, but he keeps bringing it back to life every summer."

  The scent of burning oil drifted toward us. I covered my nose and mouth. I blinked my eyes to keep them from watering.

  Across the pier and marina, I could hear loud complaints being tossed toward the boat owner. Eventually, the rambunctious engine shut off. It felt like someone hit the mute button. Thankfully, the pungent smell was carried off by the wind. I was about to suggest that Burt ask Dash to check out the engine but quickly remembered who I was talking to.

  Briggs pulled out the sandwich. Mom took pride in her sandwich building skills, and the turkey and cheese in his hand was a piece of art. "Wow, I guess I wasn't expecting such a great looking sandwich." He recognized his mistake instantly. "I mean—not that you aren't perfectly capable of—it's just that it—"

  I rapped his shoulder with the back of my hand. "Stop while you're ahead. Besides, I didn't make it. My mom did. Not that I wasn't willing to put time and my thoughtful touch on the meal, but when my mom saw me pulling the ingredients out of the bag, she swooped in and took over. It's sort of her thing—taking over. I'm just waiting for her to remake all my flower arrangements more to her standards."

  Briggs gave me half the sandwich. "I saw your parents standing with you during the auction. When do I get to meet them?"

  Preferably never was what I wanted to say. "Anytime you want. They are just meandering around the town and cruising up and down the coast in the convertible my dad rented."

  Briggs swallowed a bite of sandwich and nodded. "Delicious. So your dad is the convertible type, eh?"

  "Only in his daydreams."

  We were sitting one short hill climb away from the garden club booth. Carla was sitting on the stool in the booth looking lonely and miffed. It seemed Vernon was still enjoying his fried chicken with Jenny.

  Briggs motioned toward the booth. "How is the new club going?" he asked with the same amused tone that Elsie used when she asked about the club.

  "As a matter of fact, it's just fine. I donated all those herbs to sell at the festival." He picked up the snip in my tone.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to tease." He leaned closer. I picked up the fain
t scent of his soap. It seemed he'd switched brands. I liked it. "Why does Carla look so upset?"

  "Apparently, Jenny Ripley makes her fried chicken the way Vernon's mom used to make it. So every year, ignoring his wife's dismay, he goes out of his way to buy Jenny's basket."

  The story gave Briggs a good laugh. "You've got to admire a guy who sticks to his guns about fried chicken." He reached into the basket and pulled out the bottle of iced tea Mom had tucked inside. Briggs leaned closer and took a deep whiff. "I smell something chocolatey."

  "Fudge brownies," I declared happily. "Of course, if I'd had the time, I would have labored over a hot stove to make them for you myself, but Elsie brought in a tray. Guess I don't need to say more than that."

  "No, no you don't. I love Elsie's fudge brownies. By the way, I don't think brownies are made on the stove."

  I elbowed him lightly and laughed. Right from our first meeting, James Briggs and I had been comfortable with each other. He had been reluctant, and rightly so, to let a complete amateur sleuth like me anywhere near his official investigations. But once he realized what an asset my nose was on murder cases, he acquiesced and allowed me to help. Now he even invited me to join in on investigations. Something that delighted me to no end.

  Briggs' Adam's apple held my attention while he tilted the tea bottle and finished it. He had a nice manly throat. (Yes, it was a strange thing to focus on but it was the truth.) He lowered the empty bottle with a 'that hit the spot' sigh. "How is the Hawksworth murder investigation going?"

  "To tell you the truth, I haven't had much time to work on it since I snuck in and opened that old trunk in the gardener's shed."

  Briggs turned to me with a raised brow. "I should warn you that you are talking to an officer of the law and anything you say might be used against you. Especially if it includes breaking and entering. Something I've caught you doing on more than one occasion."