Chapter Eight
Every fifteen minutes the next day Jazzi made an announcement in the bookstore. “Take a selfie in your favorite spot in Tomes and Tea and post it on your social media. Show your post to Dawn and you’ll receive a souvenir bag of our Belltower Blend tea.”
Today was explicitly Selfie Day. Delaney had offered the idea to prepare customers for the big events coming up—Emilia Perez’s book signing, Evan Holloway’s concert, and the regatta weekend soon after. Delaney’s thoughts were practical. If Tomes & Tea customers were used to taking selfies in the store, the habit would spill over to the big events. Jazzi hoped she was right. She knew the tea souvenir boxes that were ordered would help promote the store too, but they wouldn’t be ready for another week. Along with the selfie posts with #tomesandtea, the shop’s visibility would be raised.
As Jazzi straightened the books in one of the cubicles, a woman came up to her with a girl of about ten beside her. She had bright red hair and freckles, as did the child. Mother and daughter?
That was soon confirmed when she said, “Kelsey and I love your bookstore. She especially likes those lights in the shelves.”
Kelsey nodded. “Mom said I should ask you about the book I want.”
Jazzi crouched down to the child’s height. “If we don’t have it, I’m sure I can order it. What are you looking for?”
“I want The Friendship Code,” she said, her head bobbing with certainty. “It’s number one in the Girls Who Code series. It’s about girls who like computers and friendship.”
Jazzi grinned at Kelsey’s complete knowledge of the book she was searching for. “Do you like computers?”
“I do,” she acknowledged in an adult tone. “Mom says I know more about them than she does.”
“That’s true,” her mom agreed.
“Come with me.” Jazzi headed to the appropriate shelf. “We have the first three books as well as activity books for coding.”
“We can take a selfie with the books,” the woman told her daughter. “I’ll post it on Instagram.”
As mother and daughter found the book and took a selfie, Jazzi reminded them, “Don’t forget to show Dawn and pick up your free tea.”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth when she felt a hand on her arm. To her surprise when she turned, she was staring into the face of Rupert Harding, the mayor of Belltower Landing. Around fifty-five, he had a mop of white-gray hair, longish and expensively cut. Even so, it made his head appear very round. The lines under his eyes and around his mouth told her his job had its more serious aspects than simply sitting behind his desk.
A descendant of Phineas Harding, Rupert liked to stand out. Today he wore a tangerine-colored knit shirt and a tan fishing vest with hunter-green linen slacks. They were not made for fishing. His Italian leather loafers hadn’t seen water either, but he was sockless as if he was ready to go wading on a moment’s notice.
As usual he was accompanied by his nephew, Charles Harding, who was his chief of staff. Charles was around thirty-five. Unlike his uncle and boss, he wore his dirty blond hair cropped short. His white oxford shirt and navy slacks seemed like a uniform.
Both men were staring at her as Charles said, “We need to talk to you.”
That sounded ominous, Jazzi thought. She motioned to the room’s corner near the stock and break room, away from the activity and any customers.
“Do you really believe your selfie gimmick will even bring in business?” the mayor asked.
She was sure this visit wasn’t about her store’s events. “It is today. Would you like a cup of tea or a muffin?”
Charles vehemently shook his head, but Rupert just lifted his hand in dismissal. “Not today.”
“My uncle received a complaint about you,” Charles blurted out.
“Really?” Jazzi returned. “Who complained?” She couldn’t imagine that anyone had brought up her name to the mayor. Had she jaywalked too many times?
Rupert took over. “Miss Swanson, Nolan Johnson complained. He said you sullied his name. Nolan stays for the summer at a premier Belltower Landing resort. His golfing expertise brings tourists to town to learn his techniques. He even holds teaching seminars that fill up the conference room at the community center. Believe me, we don’t want him taking his following to another resort town.”
Jazzi was almost speechless. Almost. The mayor was berating her when the man in question had threatened her.
Holding on to her very long fuse, she took two deep breaths. “Mr. Mayor, I appreciate the position you’re in. But maybe Mr. Johnson didn’t tell you that he threatened me. I gave the detective pertinent information. That should not have brought the man to my store where he thought he could bully me.”
Charles sidled closer to her. She didn’t like the smell of his clingy cologne, and she took a step away.
Charles scowled. “You took Nolan’s comment the wrong way. You’re too sensitive. After all, you put the man’s character in question. How would you like to be called into the police station and questioned?”
“I had my interviews with Detective Milford. I told him the truth.”
The mayor became more conciliatory than his chief of staff. “I’m sure Nolan did too. I just want you to be aware that your actions can cause unfounded rumors. We wouldn’t want that to happen, would we? Be aware, Miss Swanson. That’s all.”
With that last admonition, the mayor and his chief of staff swept out of the store.
Jazzi felt like . . . pulling a few books from the shelves and throwing them.
But adult that she was, she stood right there and counted to one hundred. Still, smoke must have been puffing from under her French braid because Erica brought her a cup of tea. “It’s raspberry vanilla. It could help you think sweet thoughts.”
Jazzi wrinkled her nose at Erica but accepted the tea.
Parker, who apparently had been browsing, crossed to Jazzi with a perplexed expression. “That was the mayor.”
The surprise in Parker’s voice almost made Jazzi smile. But she was still perturbed enough to throw a few books. “I think he was here to warn me not to talk to Detective Milford about any residents he believes are prominent.”
“Excuse me?” Parker asked with annoyance.
Jazzi explained what the mayor and his nephew had to say.
“You’re upset, and rightly so. Maybe you should just stay away from the investigation,” Parker advised her.
“I intended to do just that.”
Parker picked up on the tense right away. “You intended to?” His tone was worried.
“The thing is, Parker, how effective can the investigation be if the mayor steps in? How will Brie get justice that way?”
* * *
Although Jazzi didn’t drive much in Belltower Landing—she usually walked or rode her bike—she drove her Mini Cooper at least once a week to make sure all ran smoothly. Today she drove with Dawn to the Forsythe Family Funeral Home and Crematorium. “Have you ever been here before?”
Dawn nodded. “Once when my paternal grandfather died. It’s quite a complex.”
A long driveway spread in front of a white pillared portico. They parked in a lot beside the two-story main building.
Dawn spread her arms wide toward the structure. “That’s the original funeral home. The Forsythe family added the chapel and other rooms as well as the crematorium that stretches to the east. Corey Forsythe, Alan Forsythe’s son, lives on that second floor.” She raised her hand toward the floor’s balcony. “I think it would be creepy to live there.”
Or spiritual, Jazzi thought. They were both silent as they considered living above the funeral parlor and what they were about to participate in.
Last evening, Estelle Frazier had phoned Jazzi to check if she and Dawn would be attending Brie’s funeral today. She’d said, “Delaney will be coming. But she’s falling apart like I am. Of course, Harry will be with me. But he’s so broken up about Brie’s murder, he’s zoned out. If I cry, I doubt if he’ll notice. He’s in his own sad world. I need someone there for support. The service will be so hard. I don’t want to fall apart.”
“Will there be a private viewing?” Jazzi had asked, knowing funeral services could take many forms.
“Yes, I . . .”
Jazzi had heard Estelle’s voice crack.
After Estelle had composed herself, she’d said, “I’ll manage that with Harry, but it will just be the two of us in the funeral home’s chapel. Two of your friends volunteered to be pallbearers, Parker Olsen and Derek Stewart. One of Harry’s poker buddies will help too and the funeral home will provide the others. They’ll carry the casket to the room for the service and lay it at graveside. I just . . .”
As Estelle stopped to find her voice again, Jazzi waited. “My doctor said he could prescribe something to calm my nerves,” Brie’s mother had confided. “I don’t want it. I want to be alert and remember what’s happening. Harry took something last night. He looked groggy this morning. He prefers to try to sleep through this awful time.”
Jazzi could somewhat understand all of the emotions Estelle was feeling. She could understand Harry Frazier’s too. Jazzi had been a preteen when her adoptive father had died of cancer and she’d been devastated. She’d wanted to go to bed and pull the covers over her head. But her mother and sister wouldn’t let her. Still, for years, her grief had been a quiet but deep sadness she hadn’t dealt with . . . not until she’d decided to search for her birth mother. Somehow she’d wanted to fill that hole in her life that had almost swallowed her.
She’d told Estelle, “Dawn and I will be there. You can count on us.”
Remembering that promise, Jazzi fit her keys into her purse and she said to Dawn, “Let’s go inside.”
The double doors at the side entrance led into a well-equipped lobby with a patterned area rug over a polished wood floor. A few people sat on the right side on love seats positioned around a dark wood coffee table. A round pedestal table surrounded by caned chairs was located on the other side.
Dawn nudged Jazzi. “That’s Corey Forsythe, Alan’s son.”
The finely suited man welcomed everyone as they came in the door and said, “The service will begin in ten minutes if you’d like to sign the guest book and make your way to our reception room.”
As Corey suggested, Dawn and Jazzi signed the guest book. Following Corey’s direction, they went to the large room with upholstered high-back chairs. At once it was easy to see many men and women were dressed in black. Brie’s friends, however, a younger crowd, had worn an assortment of colors. Jazzi had chosen a violet and white patterned blouse with a dark violet pencil skirt. Dawn had worn navy linen slacks and a pale blue short-sleeved sweater.
No sooner had they stepped into the room than Estelle, who must have been watching for them, stood from her seat in the front row and came to the rear of the room. Her face looked ravaged with grief. In a black dress with her face pale and eyes glistening behind her tortoiseshell glasses, she looked absolutely lost. She pointed to the front of the room. “Come sit in the front row with us.”
The man seated on the left aisle in the first row had his head bowed.
“Harry can’t even look at the casket,” Estelle said. “The young woman Brie worked with, Lara, is sitting beside him, Delaney beside her. We don’t belong to a church per se, that’s why we’re having the service here. Apparently Mr. Forsythe handles many funerals.”
Jazzi attended the Community Chapel that was ecumenical in nature. But not as often as she’d like. She patted Estelle’s shoulder. “Let’s sit. I’m sure Mr. Forsythe will celebrate Brie’s life.”
During the service, tears rolled down Estelle’s face while her husband sat stoic. She reached over and held on to Jazzi’s arm so tightly Estelle’s pudgy fingers had white knuckles.
Mr. Forsythe spoke about Brie’s outgoing nature and made Brie’s sunny personality evident as he relayed stories from her childhood and teenage years that Estelle must have related to him. After he finished, he read Bible verses the Fraziers had chosen. He ended with, “We will proceed to the graveside service at Mount Cedar Cemetery. First, however, take a few moments to share your memories of Brie with each other.”
The room was quiet until a few minutes later when lowered voices became louder chatter. Parker and Derek came over to Estelle and her husband to give their condolences once more. Jazzi assumed the man around Harry’s age who stopped to speak to him was his poker buddy who’d volunteered to be a pallbearer.
Jazzi didn’t think she’d ever seen Parker in a suit before, though she knew he probably wore one for his consultation gigs. She mentally shrugged. Maybe not.
Dawn must have been thinking the same thing because she joked to Parker, “Did you have to buy a suit?”
Moving toward them, allowing a woman Estelle knew to step close to her to talk, Parker gave them a slow smile. “I have a few suits. When I’m not in Belltower Landing, I let my business persona take over.”
“He hobnobs with some influential CEOs,” Derek gibed. Then he lowered his voice. “They know he can burn through their systems’ firewalls.”
Jazzi took a longer look at Parker. He was humble, never stating outright how much he’d accomplished at the ripe old age of twenty-seven.
Suddenly Jazzi heard a loud male voice to the left of them. Harry was facing off with a taller man who wore a dark navy pin-striped suit, white shirt, and navy tie. The funeral director was standing with them, looking worried. The tall man didn’t look much older than Harry, but the two men were opposites in appearance.
As Estelle approached the object of Harry’s ire, Alan Forsythe leaned close to her to tell her something. Maybe who the man was who had Harry upset? Jazzi noticed his regal bearing of him as well as the style of the short-cropped gray hair. Something about his nose and jawline and his blue eyes seemed familiar. Estelle looked terribly concerned, even stiffly distant. That was unlike Estelle from what Jazzi had seen of her.
Harry’s friend pulled him away as Estelle said in a frosty polite voice, loud enough for Jazzi to hear, “Thank you for coming, Mr. Covino.”
Covino? Brie’s biological father?
Jazzi could hear Harry muttering to his friend, “He gave her away. He shouldn’t even be here.”
Estelle turned to Jazzi as if she needed her support. Uncertain, Jazzi stepped up beside her as Estelle introduced her to the man. “Jazzi was one of Brie’s friends.”
“Jazzi,” Mr. Covino said with a small smile. “Please call me Joseph. Brie told me about you. She said because of you, she decided to meet me. Thank you.” He shot a disappointed look at Harry. “You’d think on this day Brie’s two fathers could be civil.”
Harry had stopped grumbling but stared at Joseph Covino as if he was certainly an interloper.
Joseph turned back to Jazzi and Estelle. “I only knew Brie a very short time.”
Catching sight of the tears in the man’s eyes, Jazzi felt for him. How awful to begin to get to know a daughter, to start to relate to her, then to have her snatched away.
Estelle’s expression became sympathetic as if she understood. Her husband had made the first meeting more uncomfortable than it had to be. She reached her hand up to Harry to draw him into the conversation, but he took a step back.
With a sigh that spoke of his weariness and grief, Joseph gave up on enlisting Harry’s understanding. “I know this isn’t the time or place to have a conversation about Brie. I wanted my two children to come with me today, but they didn’t want to intrude on your private moments. I wish you’d both . . .” He directed a glance to Harry. “I wish you’d both come to my home so we could have a real conversation. I learned things today about Brie that she didn’t have the chance to tell me.”
When no one seemed to know how to respond, Joseph asked Estelle, “Can I have your phone number? We really should get together at some point.”
Estelle didn’t hesitate when he took out his phone. She rattled off her number and he tapped it in.
“I will be in touch,” he assured her. Then he stepped away as if he didn’t want to cause more commotion.
Jazzi would like to hear Joseph Covino’s story. It would have been important to Brie.
As Estelle moved close to her husband, Jazzi saw that people were heading out of the room. Parker and Derek had joined Corey Forsythe at the casket.
Jazzi suddenly caught sight of someone else she recognized—Detective Milford. He watched Joseph Covino leave the room and he turned his gaze toward Harry and Estelle. Just what had the detective thought about what had happened? More important, had he known suspects on his list might be here today? Who was he watching most carefully?
* * *
Late that evening, the marina was a plethora of sights, sounds, and smells. Boats from pontoons to cabin cruisers came and went from their slips, engines revving and sometimes horns blaring. Far out in the lake Jazzi could spot sailboat masts. The scents of damp grass and fish rode on the breeze, but they mingled with food truck aromas—from savory to sweet—funnel cakes, barbecued ribs, hot wings, tamales, sweet potato frites, and cupcakes.
After Tomes & Tea closed, Jazzi had met Delaney in front of the community center. A boardwalk stretched in front of the center to the areas around the marina and boat supply store. The boarded area had been laid to be a gathering place. At night residents could play music, mingle, and catch dinner from the food trucks that lined up across from the marina. For the Welcome Summer Festival, Jazzi guessed there would be evening events planned that would bring scores of residents down to the space.
Delaney was still wearing the clothes she’d had on for the funeral. . . white slacks, a bright pink blouse, and a white shrug. Before meeting Delaney, Jazzi had stopped at her place to change into a short halter-necked sundress in a gauzy teal material. They strolled toward the food trucks without talking and Jazzi suspected they were both thinking about the funeral service.
Delaney finally spoke. “It was so sad, wasn’t it? I can’t believe Brie isn’t in my life anymore.”
Jazzi bumped her shoulder against her friend’s. “I learned more about Brie today. It sounds like she always had an outgoing personality.”
“She could be a party girl the past few years,” Delaney admitted, adjusting her crossover bag on her shoulder. “I’ve never known her dad to be as volatile as he was today.”
“I think he scared Estelle. I wonder if he knew Joseph Covino’s story—why Brie was adopted—if that would make a difference. Did Brie tell you anything about it?”
With a sorrowful expression, Delaney shook her head. “Maybe she thought I wouldn’t understand that type of abandonment. Now I wish she had told me.”
“There are always regrets when we lose someone.”
“I forget that you know about that.”
At the food trucks now, they decided what they were ordering for supper. Several picnic tables were occupied but a few were vacant. It was the type of balmy June night when being outside was a pleasure.
Delaney chose a truck where she could order falafel. Jazzi gravitated toward the waffle truck. The cook put two waffles together to form a pocket. Then the pocket was filled with anything from omelets to sweet desserts. Jazzi ordered the omelet-filled waffle pocket with bacon and broccoli.
Delaney who was mostly a vegetarian laughed. “Do you think that’s healthy because of the broccoli?”
“Yes.” The simple answer brought a laugh from them both.
Once they were seated with drinks and food, Delaney studied her falafel wrapped in pita bread with tomatoes, cucumbers, and a topping sauce. She picked it up and took a bite. Jazzi did the same with her waffle.
After wiping her fingers, Delaney took a drink from her water bottle. “I want to add some enhancements from Tomes and Tea to the Welcome Summer celebration.”
“How?” Jazzi wiped a spot of cheese from her lip.
“It would be an advantage for your shop to donate two or three baskets filled with bookstore items and teas for the silent auction.”
“I think Dawn will agree to do that. Everyone who bids will see the tea in the new boxes as well as the books. Maybe we could do a romance basket, a thriller basket, and an activity book basket.”
“Add some pamphlets about items you’ll be promoting, maybe for the virtual reality games. Tourists often buy items on vacation they might not buy the rest of the year. You want to do anything that will pull them into your store to look. Are you making sure your website address is printed on the tea boxes?”
“For sure.”
After they finished eating and stowed their trash, they started walking back toward the community center. Jazzi asked Delaney, “Do you want to stop at the green?”
“I don’t know,” Delaney said. “I’m still feeling sad. I don’t know what I want to do.”
“Why don’t you come back to the apartment with me? You can play with the kittens. Maybe we’ll play a board game. You know, old school.”
Delaney smiled at that. “Kittens and a board game sound good.”