Tulips and Trouble Read online

  "For another day, I think. Although, I mistakenly gave her a glass of wine after a pain pill last night, and I was pretty sure she thought she could avoid any pain by just flying around town on her wings."

  He laughed quietly. "I've heard that combination can give you wings."

  "Well, it was nice seeing you. I almost didn't recognize you without your four-footed sidekick."

  "Yeah, Conan the Barbarian is back at the office, no doubt causing damage and driving Hilda crazy."

  I laughed and pointed to my nose. "Let me know if you need Samantha for anything to help you sniff out the missing person." I'd been jokingly trying to come up with a separate name for my sleuthing nose. Briggs had decided on Samantha, a tribute to the vintage Bewitched television series. Apparently I twitched my nose a lot like the television witch.

  "You and Samantha will be the first helpers I call."

  Chapter 13

  Sunday had definitely been a much slower day at the flea market. Even with the thinner foot traffic, I'd sold half of the cupcakes in an hour. Lola had been busy for ten minutes in a text conversation. Her finger flew over the screen quickly, and with each send, her lips grew tighter with anger. I could only surmise that she was talking to Chuck and hopefully letting him know that they were finished for good. She glanced up in between texts and caught me watching her.

  The tight set of her mouth loosened some. "Yes, it's Chuck and yes, I'm telling him to lose my number for good."

  "I'm happy to hear it." The flash of Lester's bright blue and red Hawaiian shirt caught my eye. He was walking toward us with two large coffees.

  "Yay, the caffeine patrol is here," I sang. "I've got a girls' night hangover."

  "Too much wine?" Lester asked as he reached the table.

  I took the hot cup of coffee from his hand. "Actually, too much ice cream." I raised the cup to him and to Lola, who was greedily grabbing for her own cup. "Here's to caffeine and friends bearing hot beverages."

  I took a sip. "Hmm, comfort food has nothing on a richly brewed cup of coffee. Especially a Lester coffee. How is Elsie doing?"

  Lester lifted his sunglasses away from his blue-gray eyes. They had permanent smile lines around them, which fit him well. "She's been ordering me around all morning, so I guess she's almost back to her old self. She tucked herself onto the couch with her heating pad and her down quilt and her television remote that she used like a pointer." He lifted his hand holding an invisible remote and raised his voice to sound like Elsie's. "Les, pull that laundry out of the dryer. Les, see if the plants on the porch need water." He pointed his invisible remote in a different direction and made his voice even squeakier, which was sort of funny since Elsie's voice was about as deep as her brother's. "Les, don't forget to fix that leaky faucet in the bathroom. You've been promising to do it for weeks, and if you don't do it, I'm going to start sending you my water bill. Then you can pay for that leak you refuse to fix."

  I took another drink of coffee. "I'd say she's pretty close to a hundred percent then."

  "I sure hope so." Lester pulled his glasses back down out of his snow white hair. "She's a pain in the rear when she's well, but she's worse when she's sick."

  A tow truck rumbled past on Pickford Way and stopped in front of Letty's parked car. After an hour of activity down at the lighthouse, Detective Briggs and his team had split up and headed different directions. Now it seemed he was back.

  Briggs pulled his car up behind the tow truck. The burly truck driver climbed out, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his forearms covered with tattoos. He was carrying the long, thin hooked device tow truck drivers used to unlock your car when you left your keys inside.

  "I heard something about a missing woman," Lester said as we all turned to watch the driver shimmy the thin piece of metal between the top of the window and the thick rubber seal.

  "Yes, one of the art students who came to town to paint the lighthouse disappeared last night. Her friends can't seem to locate her," I said. "That's her car. It's been parked there all night."

  "An artist? Then she's probably just flitting around town with friends," Lester said with a dry laugh. "You know how flighty those artists can be."

  I looked over at him with raised brows.

  "Sorry," he grumbled. "It seems after following a night of unlucky poker playing with a morning of being ordered about by Queen Elsie and her royal remote scepter, I've grown cranky. I'm sure the woman will show up." His focus turned back to the car. "Looks like they've already got the car open."

  Detective Briggs disappeared inside the car and spent a good amount of time searching between and under seats. While he worked, the tow truck driver used a crow bar to pop open the trunk.

  "Maybe Briggs could use that super nose of yours to look for clues," Lester suggested.

  "Yes but I've still got a few dozen cupcakes to sell."

  "Minus one." Lester picked up a red velvet and unwrapped it. "I earned this. Go on, now. I'll look after the table. I'd much rather be out here with the baked goods than with the actual baker."

  I glanced over at Lola. She waved me on. "Go ahead. Lester and I can handle things here."

  "Thanks so much, guys." I headed over to Letty's car and poked my head into the open door.

  Briggs was twisted and turned into an impressive yoga stretch as he reached for something under the back of the passenger seat. He emerged victoriously with a tube of yellow paint.

  He looked up in surprise. "Lacey," he cleared his throat, "Miss Pinkerton, I didn't see you there."

  "Didn't mean to sneak up on you. Any luck finding the missing woman?"

  Briggs climbed out of the front seat holding the tube of paint and an empty coffee mug. "No, and it seems her car isn't going to lend any assistance. She keeps it pretty neat. I was hoping to find her phone."

  Briggs walked around to look into the empty trunk. He rummaged through a few shopping totes and a box of paints and brushes. "Thanks, Frank," he said to the tow truck driver. "I'll give you a call if we need to have the vehicle towed."

  "Sure thing, Detective Briggs." The driver nodded at me and headed back to his truck.

  Briggs pulled out his notebook and leaned against the car. "I'm afraid we've received some information that made this missing person case more urgent. Ms. Dean, the art teacher, said she and Letty and the rest of the class were heading back to their cars. She noticed that Letty stopped to answer a call. She strolled along the sidewalk finishing her conversation. Ms. Dean and the others climbed in their cars and drove away. Ms. Dean never saw her finish the conversation or climb into her car. While we were trying to track down Letty's parents, they were traveling through Europe, Hilda received a frantic call from Letty's mom. She was calling from some village in Italy, and therefore had a very hard time getting the connection through to Port Danby. She claimed that she had called Letty around midnight, our time, and that five minutes into the call Letty gasped and the phone call was abruptly lost. She tried to get a connection again but failed. She insisted that she heard a shocked gasp before the call ended."

  "That doesn't sound good. But with a weak, international signal, maybe she misheard the sound."

  "Let's hope that's the case. Officer Chinmoor has been out to Letty's place. She lives alone in a rental house in Chesterton. There was no sign of her or of any disturbance at the house. I'm going there right now to look around."

  I stood up straighter. "Can I come? I could take a whiff of some of her things, perfume, shampoo and get a sense of the fragrances she might use. I don't know if it'll help."

  "Actually, that's a great idea. I sent word to the state police that I might need the search dogs soon." He stopped and looked mortified by what he'd just said. "Not that I think of you like a search dog."

  I sputtered a laugh. "It's all right, Detective Briggs. I don't mind. Just don't expect me to crawl around this marina on all fours sniffing the ground."

  "Never."

  Chapter 14

  Letty Clark's
house was at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac that was dotted with small cottage like houses. A few of the yards were well kept with flowers and nicely trimmed front lawns and a few, Letty's included, were unkempt, with lawns that were more weeds than grass and flower boxes that looked as if they hadn't seen a bloom in years. Letty's house looked particularly neglected with peeling paint, dangling shutters and splotchy roof shingles.

  "When we were interviewing the other artists, one of the women, Denise, told us that Letty kept a key hidden in the usual place, under a potted plant on the porch." He tilted his head toward me. "A terrible idea, by the way. It's the first place thieves look."

  "I will keep that in mind."

  There was only one pot on the porch. It was filled with soil but the plant was only a few tattered stems. I concluded that it had at one time been a potted fern.

  Briggs lifted the pot and pulled out the key. He opened the front door and we walked inside. My nose was instantly assaulted by the smell of oil paints and thinner. It was strong enough to make my eyes water. I fanned my face to dry them.

  "That paint smell is strong for me," Briggs said. "I can only imagine how overwhelming it is for you."

  "Very. She needs to open some windows. It can't be good for her either." I spoke of the woman in present tense in full hopes that she was alive and well somewhere hanging out with friends.

  Detective Briggs went straight to a tiny desk in the corner of the kitchen. There were a few notes and an address book sitting on what seemed to be this week's grocery list. I headed down a short hallway to a bathroom that was so small you could wash your hands from the toilet, although that would be rather counterproductive. Still, if one was in a pinch for time . . .

  The dated pink ceramic tile vanity top was cluttered with cosmetics, hair products and moisturizing lotions. My job at the flower shop required me to slather up my hands, morning and night. I imagined it would be the same for someone who spent a lot of time with oil paints and the harsh chemicals needed to clean brushes.

  A bottle of perfume sitting next to a hairbrush smelled distinctly of bergamot, a fresh citrus scent that was very popular in the perfume industry. I felt a little uneasy about going through her cosmetics and personal products, but I sniffed each one, trying to memorize every scent. It was possible one of the smells would come in handy in finding Letty.

  I walked back out to the front room. Detective Briggs opened a door that led off the front room, adjacent to the kitchen. As he swung it open, I swayed on my feet, lightheaded from the pungent chemical scent that flowed out of the room.

  "Are you all right?" Briggs asked.

  "Yes. Just wasn't expecting that toxic cloud."

  He looked into the room. "It seems we've found the source of the paint smell."

  The odor was dizzying, but I was drawn into the room by the incredible art work placed haphazardly around the space, leaning on old furniture, against the walls and even on the window sill. In the center of the room, Letty had stretched out a painter's tarp with an easel sitting at just the right angle to catch the daylight coming through the window. The front tray of the easel was cluttered with crumpled tubes of paint, rolled from the back ends like tubes of toothpaste being pressured to give up their last squirt of paste. The half painted canvas on the easel was a glorious collection of lavender blooming jacarandas being replicated from a postcard that was push pinned to the top of the easel.

  "She's truly talented." My voice floated around the fume-filled room. Suddenly a cold, eerie feeling swept through me.

  Briggs seemed to notice. "What's wrong? Is it the chemical odors? Too much?" He fired out the questions in that worried tone that always warmed me. This time it was a little more subdued than a few months back when he'd discovered I'd gone on a plane ride with Dash along the coastline. He was frantic with concern about it, so much so that he had angrily lectured me about the risk just before admitting he had been worried about me. I'd tucked the moment in my heart but also cautioned myself not to overthink it.

  "It's not the noxious fumes, although they are making me feel as if my head might just lift off my neck and drift away. I just felt a chill of sorts." I looked at him. "Briggs, tell me what is your gut instinct on this missing person case?"

  Briggs looked around the room, seemingly to avoid direct eye contact with me. That reaction said it all.

  "You think something bad has happened to Letty?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

  "It doesn't look good." Briggs stared down at a painting that was near his foot. It was a portrait, a familiar face. We both recognized it at the same time.

  Briggs lifted the painting to hold it up to the light. "Darren Morgan," he said to himself.

  "He's with the art group, right? I saw you talking to him yesterday." Morgan was the young man with the long hair and man bun. He had striking features, but the artist's hand had muted some of the harsh expression in his face as if he was someone she admired or even loved.

  "Yes, he mentioned that he and Letty were friends. He seemed appropriately concerned about her, at least for an acquaintance or friend." He surveyed the painting a minute longer before putting it back in its spot.

  "When I look at that painting, I see the caring, loving strokes of an artist and the face of a model who were more than friends. But that is just a mere observation by someone who doesn't know much about art."

  Briggs rubbed the stubble on his jaw with his forefinger and thumb as he looked at the painting again. "I don't know much about art either, but I'd say you might be right about that. I may have to talk to Morgan again." We headed out of the room and he shut the door.

  "I've got a tentative catalog of scents in my head from the items in the bathroom. Don't know if they'll come in handy though."

  We walked down the short hallway past the bathroom. Briggs opened the only other door. It led to a small bedroom and bed that was covered with a pink plaid quilt. A few stuffed teddy bears sat against the pillow, scowling at us as if telling us we had no right to be in the room. A sweater was hanging on a chair near the window.

  "I'm going to need something for the tracking dogs to use for scent." As he picked up the sweater, I noticed the painting and the Victorian dressed doll from Fiona Diggle's table were sitting on top of the dresser. I walked over to it and fingered the doll's lacy dress. The head had been turned at a grotesque angle so that the pretty porcelain face was nearly facing back over the doll's shoulder. "Letty bought these at the flea market. She thought this painting might be valuable, but your former art teacher, Ms. Dean, laughed at the notion. Later that day, Jodie came back looking for the painting, but Letty had purchased it."

  A blue and silver business card for an auction house was sitting between the doll and the painting. I picked it up. "Let us sell your valued treasures for top dollar," I read from the card.

  Briggs joined me at the dresser. "Maybe the painting was valuable after all." He squinted at the signature that was mostly camouflaged by the sea of dark green and purple mountain lupines spread out from the forefront of the painting. "I can't read that signature, can you?"

  I tiptoed and got a closer look. It was just a swirl of black paint. "I think the first letter of the last name might be G, but it could also be an S. So I guess that is no help at all. I know I shouldn't be touching this, but I feel bad for this doll. Her face is twisted back so far it reminds me of that movie, The Exorcist." I reached up and gently turned the head, much to my surprise and horror, the head came off in my hand. "Oops. Didn't realize it would be so delicate."

  Briggs pressed his knuckles against his mouth to stifle a laugh as I quickly pushed the head back onto the body. I held my hand underneath for a second to make sure it was secure and then stepped back. "Last time I'll feel sorry for a doll."

  Briggs' phone rang as we walked out of the bedroom. "Briggs here." I followed him out of the house and locked the door for him as he finished his conversation.

  I pushed the key under the plant in case Letty returned home a
nd had lost her own keys.

  "That was the K-9 search team. They're on their way to Port Danby right now. Let's head back."

  Chapter 15

  I stood near the lighthouse and back from the official business and watched with no small amount of admiration as Detective Briggs stepped into his role as lead officer, instructing his people on the next steps in the search. Two black Labradors and a tall, sharp-eared German Shepherd waited impatiently at the ends of their tethers, anxious to get their noses to the ground. Intermittent barks filled the air, garnering even more attention from curious onlookers in the area. Officer Chinmoor was put in charge of keeping spectators out of the area, but he was having a hard time of it. It seemed the second he shored up the dam in one location, another hole opened up, allowing spectators to leak through. Briggs noticed that Chinmoor was struggling. He strode over to the people gathered on the sidewalk, pushing and scooting closer to the police activity. A few curt commands and a well-perfected detective glower caused the entire group to disperse and walk dejectedly back toward the town square.

  I glanced back toward the town square. Lola was still not at her table. I'd gone straight over to the flea market after Briggs and I had gotten back to Port Danby. Having sold all the cupcakes, Lester had already packed up for the day. Lola had left a sign that she was closed for lunch.

  Briggs and one of the canine officers broke off from the group and walked to the rarely used trailhead that led down toward the rocky coastline below Pickford Lighthouse. The surge from the brief but turbulent rainstorm had receded leaving behind gobs of tangled seaweed and bits of debris on the ridge of rocks that acted as a natural wall between the erosive ocean tide and the cliff side beneath the Pickford Lighthouse. The only way down to the rocks was a steep, precarious trail that was dotted with warning signs to keep off the rocks and beware of high tide. A short chain link fence had been erected at the top of the trail with yet another warning sign that the trail and rocks were dangerous. It was a somewhat comically inadequate deterrent for people who might be feeling adventurous or suicidal or stupid. Or a combination of all three. Briggs and the officer, a small, athletic looking woman with short black hair seemed to be contemplating a search down at the rocks. I didn't envy anyone having to travel that steep, narrow path or the treacherous outcropping of granite and shale.