Carnations and Chaos Page 8

  A noise outside on the porch sent Nevermore off the couch and down the hall. If only I had the cat's night vision. Another loud thump outside made the breath stick in my lungs. I turned and looked toward the door. A shadow passed by the window. I was too terrified to scream. I looked around for my phone but couldn't remember where I'd placed it. I stood frozen like a terrified deer in headlights, only there were no headlights.

  A loud knock rattled the door, and the scream that had been stuck in my throat shot out.

  "Lacey! Are you all right?"

  "Dash." I was so relieved to hear his voice, I nearly sobbed his name.

  He shined a flashlight through the front window, lighting up my path to the front door.

  I pulled it open and had to keep myself from crumpling into a tearful mess. "Dash, I'm so glad to see you. I was just getting up to find candles and—"

  As I spoke, bright headlights turned the corner and then lit up my house as the car turned into the driveway. Even in the rain and wind, I recognized that it was Detective Briggs' car. Seconds later, his car backed out and he drove off.

  Dash looked at me in question.

  I shrugged. "Maybe he was just making the rounds to see that everything in town was all right."

  "Yes, only he stopped at your house and decided to skip the rest of the street."

  "It's possible. If you can lead me into my kitchen, I can get some candles. And I will be forever grateful."

  "Absolutely." He pointed the flashlight into the house as the lights turned back on.

  My heart rate and ragged breathing slowed back to normal. Dash was soaked from head to toe.

  "I really appreciate you coming to check on me, Dash."

  "Well, I know how you feel about the dark. I didn't see any candles or flashlights through your windows, so I thought you could use some assistance."

  "Thank you so much. I won't keep you then since you are soaked to the bone."

  Dash nodded. "Good night, Lacey."

  "Good night."

  Chapter 17

  The evening's rainstorm was long gone, and a dewy moisture evaporated off the buildings and sidewalks as I pedaled along Harbor Lane. I was in need of some fresh air and exercise, so I decided to risk the traffic and ride my bicycle. Kingston flew on ahead. I warned him not to take a detour to the town square, but something told me he'd be ignoring that warning.

  I'd expected a relatively quiet morning but discovered a line in front of the shop as I rolled up. And the line wasn't for free cinnamon rolls at the bakery. Most of the faces looked unfamiliar and many had red noses as if they'd been crying. They were Marian's fans, the people who had traveled to Port Danby to meet the owner of Sugar Lips. Some even clutched a copy of her cookbook close to their heart as if it had been some life changing book rather than a collection of recipes.

  I looked around but didn't see my crow, which was just as well. Many of the people in line looked as if their nerves were on edge about the tragic news. They might not appreciate a black crow, a bird that was usually a harbinger of doom and death in movies and books.

  "Good morning," I said politely as I shimmied my way through the line.

  "Are you Pink?" a woman with red eyes and a nose to match asked. "We were told we could buy flowers here for the memorial."

  "I am Pink and yes, I do have flowers for sale. What memorial?"

  Another woman who didn't have the red puffiness that went along with a good cry but who held tightly to a handkerchief anyhow, stepped briskly forward after quickly appointing herself spokesperson. "I don't know if you've heard about the terrible tragedy, but Marian Fitch is dead."

  "Oh yes. I did hear. It's very sad."

  "Apparently, the other bloggers are keeping the fair open in her honor," the woman said. "So we're going to turn the Sugar Lips booth into a shrine of sorts by covering it with flowers."

  Somehow I was sure that Fitch's honor wasn't the motive behind keeping the fair open, but what did I know? "That is truly lovely of all of you." I opened up the shop. "Step inside then, and we'll see which flowers will suit Marian's memorial."

  Less than one hour after Marian's loyal and bereft fans swept through Pink's Flowers, the store was empty of customers and of most of the cut flowers. Kingston had waited patiently on the roof until the last customer left before tapping at the front window to come inside. He'd immediately fallen fast asleep on his perch.

  I walked into the office to put in an emergency order for more carnations, roses and Gerbera daisies but the clang of the goat bell on the door drew me back out to the store front.

  Elsie walked inside carrying a plate of cookies. "My cherry, chocolate and pistachio biscotti. I thought you could use a pick me up after that morning rush."

  "Elsie, let me just tell you, that as you walked across my shop floor with those biscotti, I was sure I saw a glowing yellow halo around your head. Which would be fitting, since you are a saint." I picked up the biscotti and took a bite. The earthy crunch of pistachio nuts was offset perfectly by the rich bits of semi-sweet chocolate and the tart dried cherries. "Hmm, as usual, my friend, culinary perfection."

  "I'm glad I could provide some bliss." Elsie hopped up on the chair like a fit woman of twenty, even though she was in her sixties. "So how about that? Chaos came after all. Sure didn't expect the fair to be interrupted by a murder."

  My face popped up. "How did you already know it was murder?"

  Her face lit up. "Ah ha. See, I knew it was murder. Or at least I thought it was until I saw your reaction just now."

  I held up the crescent shaped cookie. "I guess it was the old 'feed her biscotti and she'll talk trick'."

  "The oldest trick in the book," Elsie said confidently. "I'm not surprised that Marian finally pushed someone to the brink. She's always had plenty of enemies. Even though I never finished the pastry course with her, I left there thinking I never wanted to cross paths with the woman in the business world." Elsie swept up some of the greenery and baby's breath clippings that cluttered my work island. I hadn't had time to tidy up after the mad rush of customers.

  "It does seem that someone wanted her dead. And they succeeded." Talking to Elsie reminded me of the brief conversation I'd had with Lola the night before. I needed to let Detective Briggs know about Parker being the heir to her fortune. Money and fortune was always an iron clad motive. And her nephew had, conveniently enough, put both epinephrine pens out of her reach by having them locked up. Of course I knew that Briggs was already working hard on the case. And I was sure he was looking extra hard at Parker. They always looked at family members first as suspects.

  "You know, there was something about a cookbook deal a few years back," Elsie began. She tapped her chin as she tried to summon the details from her memory. "Marian's cookbook was sold in auction to some big publishing house. It knocked another prominent blogger's cookbook out of the running. But gosh darn, I can't remember any more than that. You know I spent a little time with a baking blog, Elsie's Sweets," she continued. "That was the name of the blog, but I discovered that opening an actual bakery made a heck of a lot more money than a virtual bakery. I gave up on it fast, but I did frequent some of the same sites as the other bloggers. That's how I heard about Marian's book deal. But any negative press about the deal was cleaned up right afterward. Marian always had a great public relations firm keeping her image charming and innocent. Even though she was neither." Elsie's phone timer rang. She had it set to Beethoven's Fifth so it couldn't be ignored. "I've got more biscotti ready to come out of the oven." She hopped off the chair. "I am sort of surprised that they decided to continue the fair. I'm sure Yolanda did a good deal of tossing and turning last night, trying to decide what to do. Poor thing, it had all been going so smoothly."

  "Marian's fans told me the other bloggers decided to continue in honor of Marian Fitch."

  Elsie smiled. "Yes, I'll believe that when I look in the mirror and see a real halo over my head. I'll see you later, Pink. Enjoy the biscotti."

>   Chapter 18

  Elsie's biscotti had gotten me through the morning, but my stomach was grumbling for something heartier. The day had started like a whirlwind, but things had calmed down enough for me to take a stroll down to the fair. After getting something to eat, I planned to circle back to the police station to see if I could catch Briggs in his office. I was going to mention the few details I'd discovered from Lola and Elsie, hoping they would help. Although, none of it seemed like much.

  I was almost a little disappointed that Briggs hadn't stopped by to fill me in on how things were going with the case. I was, after all, the person to discover the crucial detail—the peanut butter in the creamer. I decided to blame it on Briggs being too busy to stop by.

  I crossed the street and poked my head into Lola's shop, thinking I'd invite her along for some lunch, but she was busy with customers. The fair had certainly brought a lot of business to the shops in town. Lola waved and smiled but continued with her sales pitch. I'd bring her back a sandwich or some chicken wings.

  I headed down Harbor Lane and was disappointed to see that Detective Briggs' car was not parked out front. As I rounded the corner on Pickford Way, I was surprised to see several large white vans with satellite equipment on top. Each one of the northern corners of the square was cluttered with news crews, cameras and reporters. Some of the visitors and bloggers were being interviewed.

  I reached the town square. Many of the visitors were snapping pictures of the Sugar Lips booth that was now blooming with Pink's Flowers. The visitors might have been distraught by the loss of their favorite food blogger, but the other fair participants didn't look the slightest bit distressed by her death.

  One person who did look entirely distressed was Yolanda. She was standing in front of the vegan booth sucking down a thick green smoothie through a straw. But it wasn't a happy straw suck. Her cheeks collapsed into two sharp cheek bones with each draw. Her eyes were darting back and forth between news crews.

  It took her a moment to notice me as I walked up. Yolanda released her death grip on the straw. An audible swallow was followed by a deep, steadying breath. "I needed this. I haven't eaten all day. Oh, Lacey, I don't know what to think. Mayor Price won't even come out of his office. He is so upset that Port Danby is now going to be associated with a murder."

  "Yolanda, you know Mayor Price is always a glass half empty type. You are the glass half full type. This fair has brought tons of business to the shops. I just had my best morning ever. Of course, that was due mainly to the murder, but still, there's always a bright side when you look for it."

  "Good advice, Lacey. I'll try and remember that. In the meantime, I hope these news crews clear out of here soon." Something else caught her eye past my shoulder. She took another big gulp of smoothie. "I know he's just doing his job, but I sure wish Detective Briggs wasn't hanging around asking people questions. It puts such a negative spin on the whole thing."

  I followed the direction of her gaze and spotted Detective Briggs standing between the cream puffs and submarine sandwiches. He had out his notebook, and he was writing down details.

  "Uh, Yolanda, I'm pretty sure the negative spin happened when Marian Fitch was found dead in her hotel room. Detective Briggs has a tough job. He has to find a solid suspect before everyone packs up and leaves town."

  "I suppose you're right. I just wish he wouldn't make it look so official. But I suppose that comes with the job too."

  "It does. And I've got a few things to tell him, so I'll see you later, Yolanda. And try not to worry about Mayor Price. He'll come around." I added the last note, even though I didn't necessarily believe it. I'd only ever known him to be a grump.

  Briggs was hastily writing something down. His eyes lifted more than once when he spotted me walking toward him. He kept his expression solid and serious as his pen scrawled over the notepad. The woman he'd been talking to, the cream puff baker, walked away leaving him alone to finish up what he was writing.

  "Didn't expect to see you here," I said cheerily.

  "I'm investigating a murder that's connected to this food fair. Where else would I be?" The chill in his tone was something I'd never heard before, and I hoped I would never hear it again.

  His cold greeting had left me a little hurt and totally speechless. He sensed my discomfort, but it seemed to take a great deal of effort for him to look at me. "I'm sorry, Miss Pinkerton. It's just I'm very busy. I need to interview a few people, especially since most will be leaving town in two days." With that semi apology he headed away.

  I stood and watched him, feeling perplexed, stunned and sad. Then it occurred to me that I'd done nothing at all to deserve it. I'd helped him figure out Marian's cause of death. Otherwise, they'd still be waiting for the coroner's report just to see if it was murder.

  I hurried to catch up to him. "I have some information, but maybe you've decided I'm no longer useful to the investigation. In which case, I'll just walk boldly away."

  He didn't answer, but I caught just a slight shift of his jaw, which meant he was thinking about saying something. But no words followed.

  "Fine, I'm leaving." I swung my arms at my sides and took long steps. I peeked back at him over my shoulder. He was watching me. "This is my walking boldly away look. Do you think it works?"

  An edge of a smile appeared but that was all he allowed. "What is your information, Miss Pinkerton?"

  I nearly skipped back to him. "Two things. Lola overheard Parker Hermann bragging to some girl that he was going to inherit his aunt's fortune when she died. This was before she died, of course." I thought for a second. "Actually, in a pinch of irony, I think he was in Lola's store bragging to the girl at the time that his aunt . . . Well, you get the picture. Also, Elsie went to pastry school with Marian and some of the other bloggers. She said a few years ago another blogger lost out on a big publisher offer for her cookbook because Marian swooped in and got the deal."

  Briggs had taken out his notebook and was writing down my information. I got temporarily distracted by how long his dark lashes were as he looked down.

  He realized I'd stopped talking and glanced up. Those long lashes were the perfect frame for his dark eyes. "Did Elsie say who the blogger was? Was it the same blogger who had her donut recipe stolen?"

  I snapped out of my short trance. "Twyla? I don't know. Elsie couldn't remember who lost the cookbook deal. And apparently Marian's PR person took care of any lingering dirty laundry surrounding it. This happened awhile ago though, so I'm sure that tidbit of information is useless."

  "At the moment, the nephew is my top suspect."

  "But he was at Lola's and Elsie's at the time of Marian's death."

  "Exactly. Conveniently absent with the luggage keys in his pocket. The creamer had been tampered with before the coffee came. Hermann could have added in the peanut butter and gone off to town."

  "Right. Of course. Makes sense."

  "Well, I've got more interviews to do. I'll let you get back to your day." He'd reverted back to being standoffish, as if we were just casual acquaintances. I felt the disappointment deep down in my chest.

  "Oh, all right. That's fine."

  He began to walk away, but I decided to bring up the night before. "I was sure I saw you pull into my driveway last night."

  Briggs stopped and stared at his notepad as if he was looking for an explanation on the paper. "Just thought I'd check on you. The power was out, and after the elevator incident, I discovered you weren't fond of the dark."

  "Thank you. You should have stopped in." I was reading so many signals from him I wasn't sure what to think.

  He shook his head. "I saw you were already being looked after." There was that chilled tone again. "Good day, Miss Pinkerton."

  I blinked back an ache in my eyes as I watched him walk away.

  Chapter 19

  My unpleasant few minutes with Detective Briggs had put me through a series of emotions beginning with flabbergasted and ending with exasperated, with a touch of
heavy heart in between. He had moved on to the opposite end of the fair. Briggs might have upset me, but that didn't mean I should starve myself. I decided to give one of the Sandwich Queen's treats a try.

  The Sandwich Queen had gone off to shop in town, leaving behind two young girls who were eager to help and to let me know which sandwiches were, in their opinion, the best. In the end I decided to try a triple grilled cheese with tomato and pickles. As I waited for my sandwich to come out of the grilled cheese press, I noticed Mayor Price walking, or rather, marching across the street from his office building. His signature puffy moustache rocked back and forth like a boat on a rough sea and his cheeks were dark pink with anger.

  I searched around but didn't see Yolanda. The news crews had packed up their equipment, but they lingered around the news vans, possibly just waiting for their next destination order. I didn't know enough about news crews to hazard a guess. But the story here, was, thus far, fairly uneventful. I wouldn't expect them to stay long in Port Danby. And with the sour lemon twist on the mayor's face, for Yolanda's sake, I hoped they'd drive off soon.

  "Here you go," said the spunky girl with a spray of freckles across her nose that reminded me of my own freckled nose.

  "Looks yummy. Thanks." I searched around for a place to sit, but most of the tables were taken. The murder hadn't slowed people's cravings for delicious treats.

  I headed across the path to a patch of shade. I took a big bite and with it being a triple grilled cheese, the bite was still attached to the sandwich by a mozzarella cheese umbilical cord. I was using my chin and my fingers to un-attach myself when the mayor spurted my name behind me. (Spurting was the best verb I could come up with to describe the way Mayor Price said my name.)

  "Miss Pinkerton."

  I turned slowly around, having just been victorious in freeing my bite from the sandwich. I quickly chewed and swallowed. "Yes, Mayor Price?"

  He pointed up to the top of an ash tree. "Is that your crow?" The mayor truly had a bee in his bonnet about my pet.