Lavender and Lies Read online

  "Tom, have you seen Kate today? Lacey said she closed up her shop early."

  Tom thought about it, then shook his head. "Can't say I have."

  Gigi turned to me. "I hope she's all right. It's not like her to close up early. Tom and I have been so busy getting the store ready for the holidays, we've been sort of out of the loop. However, I did hear someone say Kate had a new boyfriend."

  "That's hardly news," Tom muttered, not really intending for us to hear.

  Gigi frowned at him. "Anyhow, I hope she's not sick."

  "I'm sure she's fine. I'll see you later. Just give us a ring if you want any more herbs."

  "Will do. Bye, Lacey."

  Chapter 17

  I toddled out of the market with the empty wagon bouncing and squeaking behind me. I giggled to myself thinking about how it must look—a grown woman walking along with her empty toy wagon. Only it wasn't empty long. I felt a light tug and turned around to find my crow sitting on the edge of the wagon, going along for a ride.

  "King, what have I told you about hitchhiking?" I quipped just as two women were walking past. They smiled weakly at the odd woman scolding the crow. And here I was wondering what people would think about me dragging around an empty toy wagon.

  The wind was not nearly as cold and biting going back toward the shop, so I was able to keep my face up and, hopefully, avoid running into angry, flustered people with grocery bags.

  Wings flapped behind me. I looked over my shoulder as Kingston lifted into the air and took off toward the beach. I had a spare few minutes and decided to follow him. I was that mom, the one who kept a tracking app on her wayward, rowdy kid. There was hardly anyone on the beach this time of year, so the seagulls wouldn't have left behind any potato chip or sandwich crumbs. I was interested to see what'd caught his attention this time.

  My little wagon danced cheerily behind me as I headed along the wharf to the steps that led down to the beach, the direction I'd seen my daft crow fly. I decided not to put the wobbly wheeled wagon through the torture of a stout flight of warped wooden stairs. I left it behind and trotted down the steps. It seemed I'd been wrong about the seagulls. A large group of them, frenzied and flapping, were just finishing an impromptu picnic, provided to them, by none other than Heather Houston, the photographer. She stood nearby by with an empty wrapper and looked on, with a small degree of horror, at the melee she'd started with her leftover sandwich. She backed out of the way of the wild wings and circled behind her tripod, where her camera sat ready to go. She took a few quick pictures of the seagull frenzy.

  Kingston was perched on the edge of a nearby trash bin waiting for his chance. I knew, too well, that he was well fed, but Ryder and I had concluded this was just one way for him to still act like a bird. Something he occasionally liked to do.

  "Did you get a good shot?" I asked, startling Heather.

  She pushed a curly strand back into a hair band and smiled, though it wasn't exactly genuine. It looked a little forced. "Not sure if there's such a thing when they're all flapping their wings at each other. I made the mistake of tossing my crust to one lone gull that had been hanging around watching me take pictures of the ocean. Next thing I knew, there was an entire flock of them dropping down from the sky." She noticed Kingston. "It seems even the crows have arrived."

  "Crow." I held up one finger. "He's with me and he's sort of a loner."

  She looked rightfully confused, but she didn't ask me to clarify. A gust of wind brought a spray of salty seawater. "I suppose I should shut down for the day. I'm pretty much finished with this stretch of the coast. I'll be moving north soon." She walked around to her camera bag sitting on her coat. She lifted it. There were some photos piled underneath the bag. "I printed a few shots of Marty and his lighthouse. Would you like to see them?" she asked.

  "Absolutely, I'd love to." I walked toward her.

  The gulls had finished their feeding frenzy, but Kinston remained on his trash can. It seemed, once again, I was that mom, the one who tagged along to the school party to check up on him and ruin all his fun.

  A gust of wind whirred along the sand just as Heather handed me two pictures of Marty and the lighthouse. They blew out of our grasp and I gave chase. Somehow, I managed to snag one picture from midair, and since I didn't want to stomp on the second one, I dove for it, landing solidly on my knees in the sand. I managed to snag the second picture before it took off toward the rocks.

  The words high gloss were printed on the back of the photo paper. I turned them over to blow off the sand. Marty's kind gray eyes smiled up at me. He looked positively miniature next to the lighthouse. The print quality was not the best. The blue ocean looked sort of a sickly green, and the shiny black roof on the lighthouse looked more like gunmetal gray.

  "I'm glad you caught those," Heather said. "Not that I'll be using those, obviously. I just printed those on my crummy little printer. But I'm sure Shuster Publishing wouldn't be too pleased if some of the photos got out ahead of the book."

  "These are great. Marty is beaming with pride." I handed them back to her. "Shuster? That's a pretty big publisher. You'll get big distribution with them. Are they lining up book tours? It seems the people who you meet on your photographic journey would love to see you again at book signings. I know Port Danby citizens would love to see their favorite lighthouse in your book."

  She pushed the pictures into her coat pocket. "I'm sure they are planning lots of promotion, but unfortunately, the editor has the last say on which photos make the cut. I didn't have the heart to tell Marty that there's always a chance the Pickford Lighthouse won't make it into the book."

  "I'm sure it will." I glanced in the direction of the lighthouse. "After all, it's the best lighthouse on the coast. Of course, that's my biased opinion, but I know everyone here would agree."

  "Well, it's been nice talking to you. I need to clean up for the day. I think I've taken about all the photos I can of this beach."

  "Yes, nice talking to you. I should get back to work too." I turned around and headed up the steps with my crow keeping an eagle eye on me. I reached the top and looked back. He swept over the sand to look for crumbs. Yep, I was spoiling his fun. I had to stop being that mom.

  Chapter 18

  Nevermore had curled up next to me on the couch for warmth. The chilly fall day had turned into a glacial winter-like night. As the sun had dropped from the sky, a drizzly fog crept on shore, smothering the town with its frosty droplets.

  I'd wisely decided to buy some apple cider on my way home, so I could brew up a spicy hot cider for couch sipping. My nose hovered in the warm, clove filled steam long enough that I could taste the spice without even sipping the cider. The scent was strong enough to make my nose tickle.

  I picked up my book just as my phone rang. It was my mom. I'd been too busy to call her this week, so I was probably in for a guilt inducing lecture.

  "Hey, Mom, sorry I didn't call—"

  "Do you remember Kaitlyn Beckman? You used to take dance classes together when you were little."

  "Yes, I remember Kaitlyn. I went to two of her slumber parties. She always cried when she lost a game. In fact, she cried a lot, about everything. Why are we discussing Kaitlyn Beckman?"

  Mom sighed dramatically. "She's engaged."

  "Wow, with that sad sounding sigh, I thought you were going to tell me something terrible happened to her." I knew of course that the sad sigh was because yet another one of my neighborhood friends was getting married before me.

  "No, nothing terrible at all. I ran into her mother at the grocery store, and she couldn't wait to relay all the wonderful news. Apparently, he's a lawyer who is joining a big firm, and they just put a down payment on a sprawling ranch house in California."

  "That's very nice, Mom, but I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to do with that information."

  Mom huffed loudly. "Nothing, I just thought it was interesting. Another one of your school chums is getting married."

  "We we
ren't really chums. We were just sort of people who hung out in the same circle. Like I said, lots of crying. How's Dad?" We needed a topic switch.

  "He's fine but this cold weather is starting to make his knees hurt. I told him all those years on the golf course had ruined the cartilage in his knees. Are you keeping warm?"

  I chuckled. "Nope, I wore my bikini top to work this morning just for the heck of it. And right this minute, I'm standing barefoot on the front porch."

  "Such a funny girl," she said wryly. "Now, you're still coming home for Thanksgiving, right?"

  I dreaded even thinking about being anywhere near an airport during the holidays, but I'd made the promise back in summer. I believe it was a topic switch back then too because the first half of the call had been about Olivia, my old friend from school, getting married to a podiatrist.

  "I'll be there. I'm looking forward to seeing you guys, but James isn't sure he can get all those days off."

  A long disappointed grumble followed. "It would be nice if he could make the effort. He hasn't met the family yet."

  Yes, all part of my plan, I thought with a grin. "Mom, he's the lead detective for three towns. He plays a pretty important role in the safety and security of this area. He's going to try and get it off, but no promises on that yet. You'll just have to be satisfied with boring old me."

  She clucked her tongue. My mom had a plethora of sound effects for phone calls so there could be no misreading her feelings about things. I missed her next Mom-ish comment when the conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. The unexpected knock, along with my startled reaction, sent Nevermore off the couch and down the hall to my bedroom.

  "Mom, I've got to go. Someone is at the door." I got up from the couch.

  "At this hour? Don't open the door to any strangers, not at this hour. Not at any hour. Should I tell your dad?"

  I couldn't stop the chuckle. "I think he might be a bit too far away to do anything about a stranger showing up at my door. I hopped up on my toes and peeked through the peep hole. "Besides, it's not a stranger. It's my neighbor, Dash."

  "Oh, it's Dash." Her voice got a little fluttery. She, like most women who met Dashwood Vanhouten, was instantly smitten, even though she knew the entire scandalous story of Dash betraying his best friend, James, by having an affair with his wife. Still, Mom always sounded a little more frivolous whenever I brought up my remarkably handsome neighbor.

  "I'll talk to you later, Mom." I hung up and opened the door.

  Dash was holding a piece of mail. "This ended up in my mailbox." He took a deep whiff. "Why, dear neighbor, have you been baking?" he asked with his incredible smile.

  "Only if you count stirring some mulling spices into cider, baking. Come on in. There's enough for one more cup and it's still warm."

  I headed into the kitchen. Dash pointed toward the tarp hanging over Kingston's cage. "I guess this is how you get the guy to sleep at night. I don't think I've ever been over here this late."

  He reached the kitchen. I handed him a cup of cider. He took a second to warm both his hands around the cup.

  "That cold snap sure came in fast," he said. "Hmm, delicious. Hits the spot perfectly."

  We headed out to the living room. I sat on the couch and picked my cider up, while Dash sat on the chair adjacent to the couch.

  "Sorry for coming here so late, and it wasn't really just about the mail." He took another sip and lowered the cup. "Kate stopped by earlier this evening. She was pretty upset."

  I scrunched my face. "About the new boyfriend? I'm sure it was a big shock to her."

  "Yeah, you know Kate. She meets a man, goes on one or two dates and she's picking out wedding china. I think that's the main reason she can't seem to hold on to the right guy. She's just too pushy. I don't think she was dating this guy for more than a week or two. He only just arrived in town a month ago, or at least that was what he told her. Turns out he was quite the jerk."

  I leaned forward to place my cup on the table. "I guess the necklace clued her in to the whole scandalous affair."

  Dash looked puzzled. "She didn't mention a necklace, however she did show me a picture of the guy walking along the wharf with another woman. Someone slipped it under the door at Mod Frock. Lionel and the woman were holding hands."

  I sat up straight. "Did you see the picture? Has she shown it to the police? It could very well have to do with the killer."

  "I don't think she's shown it to the police yet. She had it crumpled up in her purse. I only glanced at it, but the woman was wearing big, round sunglasses. It looked like she had streaks in her dark hair."

  "The woman on the boat," I said with a clap, then shook my head. "I've really got to found out what that woman's name is. It's not very investigative of me to keep referring to her as the woman on the boat. It lacks a certain finesse." I sucked in an enthusiastic breath. "Wait, you've probably seen her boat down in the marina. It's called Funtasy."

  Dash chuckled at the name. "I would definitely remember that one, only I've been working over in Mayfield helping to restore a 1900 steam yacht my client bought at an auction. It's been murder finding parts for it. Speaking of murder—" He smiled. "Like how I did that? Clever, considering I've been up since four in the morning."

  "You get a big gold star for the day," I said. "Now what about murder? You know it's my favorite topic. Did Kate have any suspicions about who might have killed Lionel?" With any luck, I'd get some insider information directly from Kate through one middleman. And all for the price of one cup of cider.

  "Actually, she's worried that she might be a suspect. She said she got a voicemail from Detective Briggs asking if she could come to the station tomorrow to answer some questions about Lionel Dexter."

  I bit my lip, feeling a moment of Kate's angst. "Is she freaking out?"

  "That'd be a good way to put it. I told her she had nothing to worry about, unless she was the killer."

  My eyes rounded. "You didn't say the last part, did you?"

  "Why yes, yes I did because I'm an imbecile. I thought a little humor would help, but it was definitely not what she needed to hear. She sobbed for a good five minutes."

  I tried to visualize Kate sobbing, but I just couldn't get an image. She wasn't exactly the sobbing type. She was tough, almost strident in everything she did, but it seemed she had a soft, vulnerable side too.

  "I'm sure James will just ask her what her relationship was with Lionel and when she saw him last." My hands flew to my mouth. "I nearly forgot. Lionel's neighbors, who really aren't his neighbors." I waved my hand. "Another part of the story but anyhow, the neighbors told James there was a red Honda in Lionel's driveway the night he died."

  "Kate didn't mention she went to see him. She told me she confronted him about the picture, but stupidly, I didn't put two and two together. That's not going to help her."

  "But the car was gone long before midnight, when the gunshot was heard. So unless she drove back later, it still doesn't put her at the crime scene at the time of the murder."

  Dash grinned. "Look at you, sounding all official."

  I brushed some invisible dust off my shoulder. "Thank you, I've been working on my investigator's vernacular. Except that whole 'woman on the boat' thing. I've got to find out her name," I said more to myself than to Dash.

  Dash drained his cup and stood up to carry it to the sink. "I need to get to bed. I can barely see straight, and the alarm is going off at four again."

  I got up to walk him to the door. "I can't imagine climbing out of bed while it's still dark and heading out into the pea soup fog on the coast to start my day."

  "That's where my gigantic thermos of scorching hot coffee comes into play." He stopped at the door. "Good night and I hope you catch the killer soon."

  "Ten-four. Wait, is that right? Doesn't matter. Good night, Dash."

  Chapter 19

  I ate a sensible breakfast of oatmeal and fruit, knowing full well, that my good intentions would probably be oblitera
ted by one of Elsie's Thursday morning chocolate cranberry scones. They were a hot item at this time of year, so I'd left Elsie with a standing order to put one aside for me. But to further my good intentions, I followed my healthy breakfast with a brisk bike ride.

  An aqua blue sky with puffy white clouds covered the town and the sun had lent enough warmth that I decided to ride to work. Kingston had no interest in flying to town. He saw me pull on my bicycle helmet and dashed back into his cage.

  I pedaled down Myrtle Place, glad that I'd remembered to pull on my gloves. The sun had warmed things up, but riding against the wind was chilly. My sunglasses kept the wind from burning my eyes, but my nose was numb. I glided downhill past Grayson Church and its cemetery. I was just about to pedal past when I noticed the groundskeeper was cleaning pigeon droppings off the stone angel in front of the Price family burial vault. It was positioned on a small grassy knoll above the rest of the graveyard. I'd made several trips to the cemetery, focused mostly on the Hawksworth family plot, and, in particular, the small unmarked grave next to the rest of the family. No one seemed to know who was buried in the unmarked grave, and I hadn't, yet, uncovered the mystery. But after my visit with Marty, I was newly focused on Jane Price and her field of lavender. Did Jane write the lavender filled love letters to Bertram? I badly wanted to find the answer.

  Fortunately, I'd made enough visits to the cemetery to get to know Chuck, the groundskeeper. He was a big, silent guy who rarely smiled, but he never seemed to mind answering a few annoying questions.

  Chuck was wearing his signature work coveralls, dull gray to match the stones on the church. It seemed this fine morning he had the unenviable task of scraping bird poop off porous stone statues. Being rather an expert on cleaning up after a messy bird, I felt a great deal of sympathy for the man.

  He was scraping away with a tiny metal chisel when I walked up. I cleared my throat, deciding I might startle him if I just walked up and said his name. He didn't hear me over the scraping sound.