Eric Milson was not, in fact, in a teleconference with his bosses or already on his way to the festival.
He was in the lobby of Rose Inn engaged in a quietly intense conversation with Martha, the owner of the bed and breakfast, when Fairmont and I arrived.
I knew the identity of the tall, lean, dark-headed stranger with whom Martha was conversing almost immediately because she spotted Fairmont and me in the doorway, waved us inside, and said, “Zella. Come in. You need to meet Eric. His company took over sponsorship of the contest from the Chamber of Commerce this year. I was just telling him how happy the board was to have found such an excellent partner to sponsor the contest.”
I’d forgotten that Martha was on the Chamber’s board.
I hadn’t forgotten that she could be a strong personality. A force of nature, one might even say.
Fingers crossed she wasn’t in the midst of strong-arming Hill Country Jam’s representative to do right by the contest. Because according to Ryan, his brother-in-law would do what he could to salvage the situation without being pressured. Indelicately applied pressure might have exactly the opposite intended impact.
Knowing Martha, she was looking for guarantees, and Eric wouldn’t be in any sort of position to do that with a dead contestant having been discovered mere hours earlier.
I shook hands with Eric as I introduced myself and expressed my pleasure in meeting him. Greetings completed, I said, “I met your bother-in-law this morning.”
His expression eased. “Ryan’s a great guy. I really lucked out when I married Arianna. Ryan and her parents couldn’t be better in-laws.”
That sold me; I needed to find someone to set Ryan up with.
Before I could even consider how to broach the sensitive topic of his contestant’s death, Eric knelt down and petted Fairmont under the chin. “I hear you’re the hero of the day.”
“No!” Martha exclaimed. “Fairmont found Mariah?”
I nodded. I was surprised she didn’t already know. Helen’s sources must be better than hers because Helen had known both that Mariah was the victim and also that Fairmont had discovered her. Then again, that may have been an assumption based on past experience.
Martha bustled away, calling over her shoulder, “Good thing I’ve got fresh cookies. It sounds like he’s earned them.”
Martha baked both the human and canine variety of cookies for her guests. Dogs were barred from the kitchen and breakfast areas, but Rose Inn accepted well-behaved pooches as guests when their accompanying human owners paid an additional (not insignificant) cleaning fee. There were also additional services provided to canine guests, like walks, pooch taxi trips to the local groomer, and special homemade, all organic dog treats. Always entrepreneurial, those White Sagers.
While she fetched a special treat for Fairmont, I said, “It’s terrible what happened to Mariah. I’m sorry that Hill Country Jams was involved, even tangentially.” At his curious look, I added, “Because she’s a participant in the contest you’re sponsoring.”
Eric frowned. “Mariah Wellers isn’t”—He winced.—“wasn’t a contestant. Since you’re a judge, I’m sure it’s fine to tell you she wasn’t participating. She withdrew about a week ago.”
“A week ago?” How did the SGG not know? A week was more than enough time for that information to have leaked. Or so I’d have thought. “I didn’t know. I’d heard she was a strong contender.”
“I don’t know about that. The only reason I recognized her name when Ryan called to tell me what had happened was because she’d withdrawn from the contest. Like I told you yesterday when we spoke on the phone, we have over sixty entries.”
I glanced toward the registration desk before asking, “Do you think the contest will still take place?”
His gaze followed mine. Martha had been waylaid by a guest and was currently occupied. “I hope so. I’m talking to my boss later today, and I’ll make a pitch to run the contest tomorrow if the town is supportive—and the victim’s family, of course. But before I can recommend it move forward, I need to speak with law enforcement and keep an eye on breaking news. I know this festival is important to the area, and I’ll do what I can to support it and, of course, lavender farming, given my family connection.”
“My significant other, Luke McCord, is the sheriff. He said this weekend is second only to the Christmas season for most of the vendors attending.”
Fairmont had laid down at my feet while we’d been chatting, but at the mention of his second favorite person’s name, he picked his head up and perked his ears. I leaned down to pet him.
“I’ve seen the ticket sales for the last three years and estimated vendor revenue numbers. I wouldn’t want to be in Sheriff McCord’s place right now. I know it must have been a hard call to let the festival continue, but I think it was the right one given the economic impact.”
I hoped so, but I wasn’t about to comment on Luke’s professional decisions. He knew all the angles. I just got glimpses from the outside and pieces that he shared with me. Other than trusting that he was making the best decision he could with the information available to him at the time, I didn’t know what was right.
Eric smiled at my silence. “But probably best for you not to comment, given the situation.”
“Thanks for understanding. I am crossing my fingers for the contest, though. I don’t think it’s disrespectful.” And I had some experience with violent deaths.
The world continued to turn. People went to work. Some plodded along; others celebrated what joy they could find in the world. Some watched as tragedy unfolded close to home; others closed their eyes. All while grief rolled through the lives of the victims’ nearest and dearest.
I’d ask Helen if there was anything we could do for the family. She’d know what was best. But the world wouldn’t stop moving forward, however much Mariah Weller’s family might wish it.
I realized I didn’t even know the most basic of details about her. If she was married or had children. Was local or a transplant like me. Loved her job or hated it. Had a hobby that consumed all her free time or enjoyed reading a good book and relaxing on her days off.
She had a knack for jam. A mediocre one if critics (the SGG) were to be believed. That was all I knew of her: her five-year winning streak. A scrap of nothing against the weight of a woman’s lived experience.
I turned my attention back to Eric before I was lost in a rising wave of sadness.
He was oblivious to my temporary derailment as he continued to talk about economics and opportunity. “HCJ had hoped to leverage the festival’s attendance to promote this new line of hyper-local specialty jams. If we can find a lavender-influenced jam that works, then why not wine jam? Or jalapeno? Or pecan?”
“Pecan jam?” I said. Now he was just making things up. Everyone knew about jalapeno jelly and cream cheese, but pecan jam was next level out there.
He grinned. “Oh yes. Improbable sounding but delicious. There’s a bourbon pecan jam I find at a small distillery near here that knocked my socks off.”
“What happens to this hyper-local idea if you can’t hold the contest?”
“It waits another year, maybe two. The shift to local sourcing isn’t going away for our company. But I’d hate for White Sage to miss out on this opportunity, and HCJ might decide that jalapeno or wine or bourbon or pecans are a better choice if this contest doesn’t go as planned. Even though we won’t be contracting with Ryan’s farm—it’s a conflict of interest given my position in the company—I do think it would be good for the local lavender business in general for a lavender-flavored jam to be picked up and marketed on a wider scale. Especially one with the White Sage or Sage County name attached.”
He wasn’t wrong. Since I wanted all good things for my adopted town, I hoped that somehow we’d still swing a White Sage lavender-influenced jam with HCJ.
“When will you decide? Is it already too late for anything to happen this weekend?”
“I’m checking in with my boss late this afternoon. We’ll need to make a call by around five if we want the contest to move forward tomorrow. My assistant has already reached out to all of the contestants and judges, explaining that there’s been a delay and that we’ll reach out this evening. You didn’t get a call for obvious reasons. I didn’t want to intrude. I planned to send you a text later today.”
I inclined my head in acknowledgment. If discovering a murder victim’s corpse didn’t call for a bit of space, what did? “I can still judge. If there’s a contest and you want me to.”
“I appreciate that. With you, that means that all of the judges have reconfirmed.”
Martha appeared with a bone-shaped cookie in hand. “Liver and cheddar?” she asked.
“That’s lovely. Thank you.” If I’d declined, I’d have had a mutiny on my hands.
Fairmont had come to his feet with his nostrils quivering. He was eyeing that bone-shaped cookie like it might take flight and elude him.
Even so, when Martha offered it to him, he took it gently from her fingers. Manners he’d acquired before landing in my home that was for sure. That particular trick was one his playdate buddy Turbo, the police chief’s dog and Helen’s second favorite canine walking buddy, had yet to master.
Fairmont walked to the end of his leash and proceeded to devour his cookie.
“Does this mean the contest is on?” Martha asked while we watched Fairmont hunt for crumbs.
“Like I said before, I won’t have a determination until later this evening.” The open expression that had been on Eric’s face as we’d chatted disappeared.
Martha had clearly been grilling him before I arrived. He had to be wary to make a comment that would be perceived as an assertion in her presence.
“Julian will be so disappointed.” She gave me a commiserating glance that I didn’t at all understand. Picking up on my confusion, she said, “Oh, have you not met Julian? You’ve become such a part of White Sage that I forget that you haven’t been here very long.”
“Less than a year,” I agreed.
“Julian’s on the Sage County Chamber of Commerce board with me. He’s always been a staunch supporter of the contest. He created it seven years ago, and he’s the one who’s done most of the fundraising for the contest prizes.”
I hadn’t realized there’d been much in the way of prizes previously. Probably because HCJ’s ten grand had overshadowed past efforts. “Julian recruited HCJ as a sponsor?”
A logical conclusion if he’d been the contest’s champion.
“No, no. Eric approached us with his wonderful idea. We were so thrilled. Such a wonderful opportunity for Sage County.” She smiled hopefully at him.
Poor man.
Probably best if I saved him. I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Did you need to get to the festival to speak with the sheriff?”
I had no idea if that were true, or if Luke had planned to come here and speak with Eric, or even maybe just talk to him on the phone.
But Eric jumped at the excuse. “Yes, I need to get running. Now that they’ve opened up the square, I want to see how everything looks, talk to Ryan, and yes, check in with Luke.”
I translated that to mean that Luke hadn’t been expecting him, but Eric was jumping at the chance to escape further pressure from Sage County Chamber of Commerce’s most enthusiastic board member.
As I said my goodbyes, I had the distinct feeling of a clock ticking down.
It was almost eleven. Eric wanted to make a decision by five this evening.
Was there any chance that Luke would have a suspect in custody by then?
I knew how his investigations were run: slowly, cautiously, and thoroughly, with an eye to preserving evidence and maintaining the integrity of the investigation.
Could the SGG find a suspect faster? Yes. I had no doubt about it. We weren’t constrained in the same ways that Luke was, for better or worse. And people talked to us. We were harmless, friendly, helpful even.
Did I think we could find the killer in six hours?
Well…no.
But maybe we should try?