Chapter Twelve
The strawberry field, rows and rows of the leafy plants, stretched out in front of Jazzi. Her hands were sticky from picking berries. Even early in the morning, the sun was hot on her pink hat with its large front brim, and sweat slipped between her shoulder blades under her tank top.
“Just think about the strawberry pies I’m going to bake,” Erica advised Jazzi and Dawn from the row across from them. “I froze rhubarb so I can make strawberry-rhubarb pies too.”
“You spoil us.” Jazzi knew Erica baked like Jazzi’s mom, great-aunt, and grandmother. Their philosophy saw cooking and baking as a way to show love.
Straightening, Erica adjusted her straw sunhat. “My basket is almost full.” She peered over into Jazzi’s and Dawn’s baskets. “What are you going to do with your strawberries?”
“Share with anyone who wants some.” Dawn stooped to another plant. “The strawberries will be great to pick up and eat as a snack.”
“If we freeze them,” Jazzi added, “we’ll have them for strawberry sundaes and smoothies. I might even try baking strawberry scones.”
The three of them moved down the rows, unwilling to lose their camaraderie and early morning quiet before starting a busy day at Tomes & Tea.
“It’s a shame Audrey couldn’t come.” Dawn reached into a nest of strawberry plant leaves.
“She stayed overnight with a client’s two Papillons. Her overnight pet sitting pays well. How are Zander and Freya?”
Erica had visited the kittens during a few of her lunch breaks. “They own us,” Jazzi admitted. “They take turns sleeping with us so neither of us feels deprived.”
All three women laughed.
Simply thinking about the kittens’ antics curved Jazzi’s lips into another smile. “Sometimes when we’re in our storeroom, I can hear them scurrying and playing in my bedroom.” Her room was above the break room with a door that opened to stairs leading to the bottom floor. She didn’t go that way often because she didn’t want the kittens escaping to the downstairs.
A noisy gray pickup rumbled over a gravel road near where they were picking. The driver waved. The truck bounded to the building where the farm sold boxes of strawberries and garden knickknacks.
Erica stepped over a few plants to stand by Jazzi’s side. “I heard you played tennis with Parker yesterday.”
Jazzi tossed Dawn a what-did-you-tell-her look, but Dawn merely shrugged.
“It wasn’t a date,” Jazzi said.
“Hmm,” Erica murmured. “If it wasn’t a date, are you going to take up tennis?”
Erica was an expert at ferreting out secrets, and this wasn’t even a secret. So, Jazzi might as well fess up. “I was hoping to bump into Andrea Covino there. Parker is acquainted with her and her schedule.”
With her forefinger, Erica pushed up the front brim of her hat and it slid back on her head. Her focus was as laser sharp as the sun. “Did you bump into her?”
“We did. She remembered me.”
“You are memorable,” Erica assured her. “I guess that helped ease into questions you had for her.”
“No use denying it. I managed a few. She’s not the most open person.” Jazzi suspected Andrea’s hostility originated from many factors. It could go back as far as her mother marrying Joseph. It could stem from her injury and her life becoming something different than what she’d expected it to be. Maybe Joseph’s affection for Brie, happening so quick, had been a surprise. Was Andrea jealous? Damon worked with Joseph. Had Andrea’s disdain for Brie’s entrance into her life turned into murder?
Jazzi wasn’t ready to make a leap like that.
“This is like pulling teeth this morning.” Erica emitted a huff. “What did you learn?”
Pushing her basket higher on her arm, Jazzi gave in to Erica’s interest. “I really didn’t learn anything new. Andrea Covino has an attitude. I think she resented Brie’s appearance into their lives. Brie would take the focus off Andrea, and I think Andrea likes being anyone’s main focus, maybe even Joseph’s.”
“How could she be jealous so quickly?” Dawn asked. “She only just met Brie once.”
“Once was enough if Andrea felt threatened. Joseph had adopted her and Damon. Now someone from his past barges in. If he mentioned to his family about including Brie in his will, Andrea might have felt displaced.”
“Damon and his mother could have felt that way too,” Erica pointed out.
Erica’s conclusion was the right one. “I don’t know if the police are considering the Covinos. They should be looking at them as suspects. I certainly would be.”
Erica picked up her basket and hesitated. “I know someone on the police force.”
“Do you think he’d tell you if they’ve questioned the Covinos?” Jazzi asked.
“She might.”
Erica’s correction brought a smile to Jazzi’s face.
“You should ask that officer if the detective is looking into the list of guys that Brie dated,” Dawn said.
Erica swung around to Dawn. “What list?”
Jazzi took over. “When I had dinner with Brie, I glimpsed a list of the men she’d dated, or wanted to date, from the app. Casper Kowolski’s name and Nolan Johnson’s were crossed off. But there were two others.”
As if Jazzi wasn’t aware, Dawn gave Erica a nudge. Secret code? These two were coordinating and had already talked about having this conversation.
Jazzi waited in the sunshine, knowing both Erica and Dawn cared about her.
“Are you thinking about talking to these men?” Erica wanted to know. There was disapproval in her voice.
Jazzi remembered comments and questions like these that her own mother had received from friends and family. Like her mother, she was honest.
“It’s very likely I could bump into them in the course of a day at Tomes and Tea. That already happened with Nolan Johnson.”
Erica looked toward the sky as if she needed divine intervention, then hinted at what was coming. Jazzi decided to accept whatever it was, in the bonds of their friendship.
Still, she wasn’t quite prepared for the jolt of apprehension that settled in her chest when Erica reminded her, “Jazzi, you do realize, don’t you, that one of those men could be Brie’s killer?”
The stark truth settled over Jazzi like a black cloud overtaking the blue sky. Was she really going to pursue having her questions answered? Or would she leave those questions for Detective Milford?
* * *
Zander and Freya turned everything into a happy game. Is that what life should be?
Jazzi was unpacking groceries from reusable bags. She dropped one of the empty bags to the floor and the kittens were playing peekaboo both in and out of it. In the next second they’d taken off running to the edge of the sofa. Freya pounced on a toy mouse sending a Hot Wheels car flying. Parker had given it to them believing it was sturdier and more fun than most kitten toys.
Jazzi pushed a carton of milk aside on the refrigerator shelf to allow more room for a caramel-flavored coffee creamer. Then she added the particular brand of orange juice Dawn preferred, to the same shelf. Dawn was having dinner with her brother tonight. She’d suspected he wanted to talk about the idea of opening a satellite store to his parents’ outfitter shop. Dawn had promised Jazzi that he wouldn’t coax her to become involved in the venture. But Jazzi still felt a grip of apprehension about the siblings’ conversation.
Freya found a ping pong ball under a table chair and batted it under the coffee table. Derek had contributed a few ping pong balls to the kittens’ toy stash when he’d stopped in to see Dawn one evening and stayed for supper.
Speaking of . . . Jazzi hadn’t eaten yet. She’d bought salad fixings. All she’d have to do was wash them in the salad spinner, add a pickled red beet egg from the deli, sprouts, hunks of cheese, and slices of carrot. She’d actually baked chicken yesterday and could add bites of that too.
The salad spinner sat on the counter, still half full of greens as Jazzi arranged hers on a plate. Freya and Zander had run into her bedroom. She’d have to check on them to see what mischief they’d found. After drying her hands, she was about to check on the kittens when there was a knock at her door.
A few days ago, after watching a how-to YouTube video, Jazzi and Dawn had managed to install a peephole in their door. Jazzi didn’t know if it made her feel more secure, but she went to look in the peephole before putting her hand on the doorknob.
It took her a moment to recognize Estelle, who was turned away from the door. She must be gazing over to the lake.
Jazzi undid the dead bolt and opened the door. “Hi, Estelle.”
Even through the older woman’s glasses, Jazzi could spot the dark circles under her eyes. Her grief seemed to round her shoulders. She’d worn a loose print dress, mid-calf and smocked at the top, in deference to the eighty-degree evening. Summer heat was setting in.
Estelle quickly and nervously stammered, “I’m . . . sorry to interrupt your evening. If . . . you’d rather I come into Tomes tomorrow—”
“Nonsense,” Jazzi assured her. She glanced over her shoulder to see the kittens on the threshold to her bedroom, but eyeing her.
Gently taking hold of Estelle’s arm, she guided her inside. “I have to be careful with the door because of the kittens. That jingling you heard when I opened it was a strap of bells on the door handle. When they hear that, they stay away. Usually.”
Once in Jazzi’s apartment, Estelle looked around. “This is nice. You and Dawn have decorating skills.”
Jazzi shrugged. “We know what we like and we just wanted to be comfortable. Come on in. I hope you don’t mind kittens.”
“I love kittens, but Harry says we’re too old for pets.” She headed toward the sofa, her tapestry handbag under her arm.
“Do you think you’re too old for pets?”
Estelle looked crestfallen. “I feel about one hundred right now. Each step feels sloggy. Do you know what I mean? Never mind. You’re too young to feel that way.”
Suddenly Estelle seemed aware that Jazzi had been preparing supper. She started to rise to her feet. “I’ve interrupted your meal. I’ll speak to you tomorrow—”
“Don’t be silly. In fact, have you eaten? I’ve prepared a salad and there’s plenty for two.”
Estelle hesitated.
“Really, stay and join me. I have iced peach tea and might even be able to find a bag of barbecued potato chips. My mom sends me care packages now and then and includes my favorites.”
It didn’t take long for Estelle to agree. “Harry went to a poker game tonight. Poker. Can you imagine? I don’t know what he’s thinking.”
As Zander and Freya ventured toward Estelle, Jazzi crossed to the counter. She pulled two Polish pottery plates from a top cupboard. She and Dawn had found four of them at a flea market and saved them for special occasions. Two had small chips but they were barely noticeable. That’s why their budget allowed the purchase.
“It’s possible your husband doesn’t know what will help him through this difficult time. Do you like baked chicken and red beet eggs?”
“I do. Can I help?”
“No, I have everything ready.” As Jazzi took the plates to the table, Estelle left her handbag on the couch and came to sit in one of the chairs.
At the refrigerator Jazzi pulled two bottles of salad dressing from the door. She used honey mustard and Dawn preferred ranch.
“You asked if I think I’m too old for a pet. I don’t. I think I’d like a small pup to walk. That could give me exercise, and someone . . .” Her voice caught. “Someone to care for. Harry doesn’t have to be involved.”
Jazzi could see that Brie’s death was creating a wedge between the couple. It was such a shame they couldn’t hold on to each other instead of pushing the other person away.
Estelle went on, “There’s an animal shelter on the south side of the lake. I’ve seen their ads for adoption events.”
While Estelle dribbled salad dressing on her greens, Jazzi poured iced tea and took the bag of chips from the pantry closet. She opened the bag and motioned to it. “Help yourself.”
Estelle did and soon they were eating in companionable silence while the kittens climbed the sofa and tumbled over the top. Watching them, Estelle gave a small laugh. But then she stopped herself as if that was the wrong thing to do.
Survivor’s guilt, Jazzi imagined.
“I had a reason for coming over tonight.”
“What was that?” Jazzi asked.
“I hired a cleaning service for Brie’s townhouse.”
Jazzi knew that there were special cleaning services that cleaned up a murder scene, or even somewhere the police had disturbed with fingerprint dust. Ordinary cleaner couldn’t wipe up the powder.
“Did the detective give you their number?”
“No, I called the public information officer. He was helpful.”
“I’m glad.”
Some police departments had a victim’s advocate, but the Belltower Landing department was probably too small for that position.
“The thing is . . .” Estelle began.
“What?” Jazzi prompted when Estelle stopped.
“Brie’s landlord said I have to be out of the townhouse by June twenty-eighth.”
“He couldn’t give you until the end of June?”
“Apparently he needs that time to get ready for the next tenant. And, Jazzi, Harry went there with me today and turned around and left. He said he can’t do it.” Estelle’s voice was quavering now.
“How can I help?” The question flew out of Jazzi’s mouth like it belonged in the air between them.
“I asked Delaney if she’d go with me to go through Brie’s things, but she said she can’t. I think she has a very soft heart even though she pretends to be cool on the outside.”
Jazzi believed Estelle was right about that.
“So will you go with me to sort through Brie’s things? Please?”
That please was unnecessary. Jazzi’s heart went out to this woman. Her own throat closed up as she managed to say, “Yes, I’ll help.”
Estelle reached over, took Jazzi’s hand, and squeezed it.
* * *
One of Emilia Perez’s books toppled over and Jazzi caught it.
“Maybe we have too many stacked there.”
Righting the book, Jazzi stepped back and checked the display they’d set up this morning. “I think it’s steady now. Delaney wants them all stacked like this to show Emilia has a huge readership. We have to believe she knows what she’s doing.”
Dawn straightened the placard that sat in front of the arranged books.
Jazzi thought about the customers who would be in and out of the store before the book signing that was a week away. The shiny photo of Emilia, her smile enhancing her beauty, also announced the day, date, and time of the event.
“When anyone buys Emilia’s book before the signing, we should take a selfie and flood our social media with those photos. We’ll create a buzz. Emilia told Delaney she’ll sign the books for anyone who has bought one. It doesn’t have to be that day,” Jazzi reminded Dawn.
As Erica came by with a customer, she gave the two of them a thumbs-up sign.
“There’s our seal of approval.” Dawn pointed to the cubicle of shelves to their right and the stack of books on the floor. “On to Shakespeare.”
Jazzi had emptied two cubicles in order to arrange copies of Shakespeare’s complete volumes but also individual tomes of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
“Do you think many residents will attend the play on the green?” Dawn began positioning books on the shelf.
“Two reasons I think they will.” Jazzi lifted a book concerning plays during Shakespeare’s time, the costuming, sets, and actors, and added them to Dawn’s selections. Jazzi had already attached a portrait of Shakespeare above the shelf. “The performance troupe has a group who comes to their plays. Every year since I’ve been in Belltower Landing, they’ve performed a play on the green. They have a substantial following.”
“And the second reason?” Dawn slipped a mini-figurine of Puck, a character from the play, onto the shelf.
“Evan Holloway. Concertgoers like to wander around before the main performance. I think they’ll watch the play to participate in the festival and an evening out.”
“Are you going to glitz up?” Dawn’s smile was wily.
Jazzi liked color. Glitz, not so much.
“I can lend you something of mine,” Dawn wheedled.
In college as roommates, they’d often borrowed each other’s clothes.
“If I can’t find something in my closet, I’ll think about it.”
“I have a sparkly white shrug that could go with several of your sundresses.”
The proposal sounded attractive, and Jazzi considered the idea. “I’ll try it on tonight.”
They’d just finished the display when Audrey brought a young man to the shelf where they were working. He was carrying a large carton.
“Guess what’s here,” Audrey said. “Ted has our tea boxes.” Audrey’s face was one wide smile.
Jazzi had planned the boxes with Dawn and Ted.
After he set the carton on the floor, he opened the flaps. The tea boxes were flat. Jazzi would have to square them to fill them with tea.
Dawn stopped at the box and took one of the flat ones out. She quickly shaped it into a belfry.
Jazzi slid her hand to the other side of the carton and pulled out one with a picture of a kayak. “These are terrific. We’ll begin filling them this afternoon.”
“And I’ll photograph them and post the photos to our website,” Dawn offered.
After another round of thank-yous and Ted’s good-bye, Audrey picked up the full carton. “I’ll put this in the storeroom until we get a chance to fill them.”
Each of them moved to a different area of the store. Jazzi was helping a regular customer with a biography she was searching for, about a royal, when Jazzi noticed Damon Covino standing nearby. There was no mistaking that severe jawline and stark white-blond hair.
After Jazzi pulled the biography from the shelf and her customer was looking through it, she moved toward Damon. “Can I help you?”
After all, he was in her store, and he was her customer too . . . maybe. She couldn’t remember seeing him here before.
He was dressed in navy shorts and a red split-collar polo shirt. He looked ready for a regatta. She would bet he sailed and might be competing in the regatta that would be happening soon.
“Yes, you can help me.” His tone was even and restrained.
“Are you looking for a particular title? Audrey can check on the computer to make sure we have it.”
He didn’t look toward the sales desk where Audrey stood. “I don’t need to check your computer. What I need is for you to stay away from my sister.”
Jazzi felt the fuse to her temper spark. “Excuse me?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You accosted my sister.” He’d stepped into her personal space. His tone was at the least condescending and at the most scary.
“I did no such thing. I asked her how she felt about Brie.”
“You just happened to be playing tennis on a court near her?”
Jazzi felt a twinge of guilt. “I was with Parker Olsen.”
“There was no reason for you to bother her about a dead girl who wanted better than she had.” He spat out his words . . . and they were bitter.
Jazzi felt heat rise up her neck into her cheeks. He had Brie all wrong. Either Damon was blind or wanted to think the worst. Her gaze on his, she gave him the truth as she saw it. “Brie was a healthy, beautiful young woman who had loving parents, a good job, and a bright future. She wanted to get to know her biological father. Tell me, what was wrong with that?”
Damon broke eye contact with her and took a step back. Was he simply a bully who when confronted backed off?
He scanned Jazzi up and down as if really seeing her for the first time. “I guess nothing’s wrong with that,” he mumbled.
Softening her tone but still wary, Jazzi pointed out, “Once you got to know Brie you might have even liked her.”
“Maybe so,” Damon agreed, almost automatically to placate her. But it was too late for that now. He shoved one hand into his shorts pocket. “My family would prefer not to discuss any of this with outsiders.”
Jazzi hoped Detective Milford would be discussing Brie’s death with the Covinos.
When Damon turned to leave, Jazzi didn’t try to convince him she wasn’t an outsider. She cared what had happened to Brie, and he should too.
But she knew she couldn’t make people care when they wanted to stay removed. The whole conversation with Damon bothered her deeply.