Chapter Thirteen
Although there was still a week until the Welcome Summer Festival weekend, that evening Jazzi tried on the lacy white sequined shrug Dawn handed her. She’d chosen an abstract printed haltered sundress in swirls of blue, white and pale yellow. It was relatively backless, and the sheer shrug would be perfect with it.
“I’ll glitz you up yet,” Dawn crowed, obviously pleased with the look.
The kittens scampered across two other sundresses not as suited for the evening that they were planning.
“What are you going to wear for Emilia’s book signing?” Dawn selected a pair of white slingback pumps from Jazzi’s closet and held them up.
Jazzi nodded approvingly. “I’m going to wear my work apron.”
“There will be a lot of selfies,” Dawn said with a sigh. “But I guess you’re right. Our logo should be as visible as possible. Emilia will probably be dressed in fire-engine red with winged sleeves.” Dawn dropped the shoes into Jazzi’s closet.
They had Googled Emilia’s runway shows and galas. The winged sleeves were her signature look.
Zander held on to the bedspread as he slid down the side. Freya toppled over him, and they landed on the memory foam rug along the side of the bed.
“I probably have a shiny purse you can use for Evan Holloway’s concert. I still have clothes in my old bedroom at home.”
When Jazzi had first met Dawn, they’d become instant friends. Jazzi had thought that was because they were so much alike. And they were in many ways, but in just as many ways, they were different. However, that was what made their friendship work. They had fun as well as serious conversations, and they didn’t judge each other.
There was a knock at the door.
“Expecting anyone?” Jazzi asked Dawn.
“Nope.” As the kittens ran over her bare feet, Dawn added, “Hopefully not another kitten. I’ll get it.”
No matter what Dawn said, Jazzi knew she loved the kittens too.
Jazzi was hanging the dresses that had been left on the bed when Dawn returned with Erica.
“Did you come by to play with the kittens? They have lots of energy to expend.” Jazzi gave Erica a conspiratorial smile.
Erica plopped on the bed and picked up a scarf still flung across it. “I can do that. But that’s not the only reason I’m here. I have some news.”
“News about what?” Dawn asked.
“The investigation into Brie’s murder.” Erica’s brown eyes were deeply sober and seemed darker brown than usual.
Jazzi’s breath caught. “Did they find the killer?”
Erica was quick to shake her head before Jazzi got caught up in the idea. “No, and worse yet the detective seems to be focusing on Delaney, since she found Brie’s body.”
“Oh, no.” Dawn’s hand came up over her mouth. “They can’t find the right person so they’re blaming her?”
“Can you tell us who your contact is?” Jazzi asked. It would be good to know who was feeding Erica information that should stay within the police department.
“I shouldn’t tell you, but since she’s the only patrol officer who’s a woman, you’ll probably guess. It’s Casey Garza. I’m trusting the two of you will keep that quiet.”
Jazzi pictured an officer with short, light brown hair who gave an automatic smile when she saw any of the residents on the street. But Jazzi thought that fake smile was a uniform, as much as the tan shirt and trousers she wore.
“Is Delaney the only one they’re considering?” Dawn’s voice was filled with hope again.
“Casey said Nolan Johnson hasn’t been cleared yet, but they’re concentrating on Delaney.”
“Have they talked with the Covinos?”
“She doesn’t think so. It’s possible the detective went to their estate but there’s no scuttlebutt about that.” Jazzi couldn’t understand why the detective hadn’t spoken to the family.
“Does she have any access to other parts of the investigation?” Dawn seemed to want details. Jazzi didn’t feel so bad for pushing too.
“Most everything else is public record. They’ve subpoenaed Brie’s phone records.”
Jazzi thought again about those four names she’d glimpsed on Brie’s legal pad. Certainly, if the detective would be accessing Brie’s phone records, he’d find out who she texted and dated. He could also access her social media exactly as her coworker Lara had done.
“I wonder if the detective has adequate help . . . if he has a tech expert who could scour social media accounts. It takes time to look through comments to investigate if anyone could have been stalking Brie.”
“I don’t know. Casey didn’t mention anything like that,” Erica said. “I do know the detective is also getting pressure from the mayor about the robberies in Belltower Landing.”
“Pressure won’t help him solve either the robberies or Brie’s murder.” Jazzi scooped up Freya as she scurried between her ankles. Holding her in the crook of her arm, she stroked under Freya’s chin. The kitten purred and settled in.
Erica picked up Zander, who easily jumped from her hand to the bed. He rolled over and she rubbed his soft white tummy. “From what I heard, there have been four more—an A-frame on the lake, a cabin at the resort, and two private houses on Forest Road.”
“Maybe Detective Milford will call in help,” Jazzi suggested, playing her finger around Freya’s nose.
“That’s possible, but he might not want to admit he needs it. Some men have huge egos.”
“Some murders are never solved,” Dawn added.
Jazzi couldn’t even contemplate the idea that Brie’s killer would elude capture . . . or be free to hurt someone else.
* * *
As Jazzi parked at Brie’s townhouse—she still thought of the home that way—she vividly remembered the last time she’d been here. The idea of her blossoming friendship with Brie still lived in her heart. They could have been good friends.
Estelle’s sedan was already parked. Estelle had asked Jazzi to meet her here at eight. But Brie’s mom had possibly been here for hours already.
Hurrying up the steps to the door, Jazzi didn’t have time to knock. Estelle flung open the door. “I haven’t been here long. I was afraid to come and be here alone. You can’t imagine how much I appreciate your help.”
Jazzi followed Estelle inside. Driving here, she’d thought about the fact that Brie’s killer might still be in Belltower Landing. But she didn’t believe he’d come back here. Still, she could be wrong.
The townhouse’s interior was topsy-turvy. Furniture had been pushed this way and that. The rug that had covered the sitting area was gone.
Estelle took one of the photos from the wall. “I remember when Brie shot this. The wind was in her hair on a sunshiny day. She’d been happy.”
Jazzi suddenly realized she hadn’t spoken to Estelle yet. “What can I do to help you?”
With a sigh Estelle placed the framed photo on a stack of others on the ottoman. “Can you pack up the kitchen while I go through Brie’s desk?”
“Sure.” The kitchen would take little thought, just mugs, glasses, and plates, maybe canned and packaged goods.
“We have a neighbor who has pet food delivered. She gave me the boxes. I rented a storage compartment, but I suppose most of this I’ll donate to whoever will take it.”
“I know it’s a lot to handle,” Jazzi sympathized. “Just making all the calls takes energy.”
“It would be less stressful if Harry helped more, but I’ve given up on that.”
Climbing the steps to the kitchen, Jazzi opened cupboards to see exactly what she’d be packing. Brie’s set of dishes with mugs and sandwich plates looked to be in perfect condition. There was another set that she must have used for every day. Picking up the roll of bubble wrap, Jazzi began to pack.
Estelle stood at the small desk in the living room where Brie’s laptop had sat the night Jazzi had been invited to dinner. But the laptop was missing.
“It’s easy to see the police’s forensics team went through Brie’s desk,” Estelle said. “Her checkbook is missing. I suppose the detective is going to look at each one of her expenditures, but I don’t understand why. She was just a single woman trying to make ends meet.”
“They’re looking for anything unusual, things like regular payments that can’t be explained, either deposits or withdrawals.”
“You mean . . . like for blackmail?” Estelle pushed the small desk drawer shut.
“Yes, but really anything unusual. They can access bank records, but her personal checkbook might have notes.”
“I see.”
As Jazzi glanced down the few steps to Estelle, she noticed the wistful look on the woman’s face. She didn’t have to wonder for long what she was thinking.
Estelle sank heavily onto the straight-backed chair at the desk. “I’m glad I never deleted Brie’s emails. I don’t do much with my laptop, but I keep all her messages in a folder. Sometimes she’d tell me something and I’d forget the details she expected me to remember. If I kept her emails that way, I could go back to them and look.”
“Did you email each other often?”
“Mostly late at night. Harry would be snoring in his recliner, and I’d be watching a movie. Brie would tell me about the kids she worked with that day, and her plans to go paddleboarding. I loved hearing every detail.”
Jazzi heard the tremble in Estelle’s voice and realized how much Estelle wanted to hear about Brie’s day-to-day life. Jazzi realized she should email her own mom more. She’d believed she needed to keep some distance between them to be an adult. Yet . . . they’d been close during her childhood and teen years. Maybe finding her birth mother had interfered with her relationship with her mom, but in other ways it had made it stronger. The whole situation had formed Jazzi into the woman she was now.
What exactly would her mom say if she knew Jazzi was in a murdered woman’s townhouse asking questions about her death?
Jazzi wasn’t sure she wanted to open that door between her and her mother.
An hour later Jazzi was finishing in the kitchen. Estelle had used cleaner and polish on all the living room surfaces. She’d climbed the stairs to the kitchen and started wiping down the counter there.
“The landlord will probably clean everything when the furniture’s out,” Jazzi said.
Estelle kept swiping her cloth over the granite. “I know, but I need to feel useful.” She stared down into the living room area. “Will you come back with me to pack up Brie’s bedroom? I can only handle so much at a time.”
Handling clothes a loved one had worn would be the hardest part of Estelle’s emptying the townhouse. “I’ll come back with you. Let me take a last look at the drawers to make sure we got everything.”
Estelle checked the bottom cupboards while Jazzi pulled out the kitchen drawers. The junk drawer with paper clips, notepads, twist ties, grease pen, and rubber bands had been the last one Jazzi emptied. She noticed now she hadn’t removed the drawer liner. Pulling it out she crumbled it and tossed it into the wastebasket. As she did, she noticed a small square of paper had floated to the back of the drawer. It was pale blue, a card from a florist shop. It said—I hope you find what you’re looking for. Gregg
Gregg Rizzo? Jazzi pictured the brown hair and boyish grin that she’d glimpsed in Brie’s social media photos.
“Estelle, did Brie ever email you about a man, Gregg Rizzo?”
Estelle straightened, holding on to the counter for support. Sadness crossed her face when she shook her head. “Brie never talked to me about men. I’m not sure why. Maybe she wanted to keep her dating life private. Not unusual, I suppose.”
No, it wasn’t unusual. Jazzi hadn’t confided her problems with Mark to her family, not until it was over. Even then, not a deep dive into it.
“Why are you asking?” Estelle wanted to know.
Jazzi showed her the card.
Estelle looked thoughtful. “Maybe he sent her good-bye flowers. That sounds like something a gentleman would do.”
Was Gregg a “gentleman”? And just what had Brie been looking for? The right man? Perfect husband material? This did sound like a breakup bouquet. Did Gregg resent the breakup? How long had they dated?
Those were questions to ask Gregg Rizzo.
* * *
The next few days passed without Jazzi hearing from Estelle. Maybe Brie’s mom had decided to take a break before tackling packing up Brie’s most personal belongings. Jazzi kept her focus on the Welcome Summer weekend preparations. A day before Emilia’s book signing, Jazzi was nervous. The store looked ready for the summer festival, but was she ready? How about her team?
Dawn seemed to have a laissez-faire attitude about it. And truthfully that calmed down Jazzi. That’s one reason they complemented each other as roommates. But in the back of Jazzi’s mind, the idea also played that Dawn didn’t have as much to lose as she did. Making Tomes & Tea succeed wasn’t merely about money. It was about Jazzi’s life, the independence that she craved. Dawn could sell her interest in Tomes, but Jazzi . . .
This was her opportunity to make her mark, to fly on her own, to become successful and a savvy businesswoman. Her mother had done it, and Jazzi intended to do it too, right now, at age twenty-five. She’d been given the opportunity and she was going to take advantage of it, not flub it.
She spotted Derek talking to Dawn at the tea bar. She was pouring him a cup of iced tea. Derek drank lots of iced tea. Jazzi didn’t think that was because he enjoyed their daily brew so much but rather because he liked being around Dawn.
Seeing Jazzi was free, Erica rushed over to her. “Have you taken a look at the numbers of our online tea sales?”
“I looked over them last night. Why?”
“They’ve exploded this morning, and I can show you why.” Erica was waving her phone at Jazzi.
Jazzi caught hold of Erica’s arm. “Slow down. Let me see.”
After Erica shoved her phone in front of Jazzi’s face, Jazzi backed up a few inches. Then she watched the video. Emilia Perez was holding a belfry tea box and mentioning Tomes & Tea in Belltower Landing, New York, where she would be signing her new book tomorrow.
“Oh, my gosh!” Jazzi was practically vibrating with excitement as she watched Emilia tell her followers:
“I know not all of you can find me at this wonderful bookshop and tea bar tomorrow. But you can order books and tea from the shop online, and I will be signing one hundred copies that you can order at their website. First come, first served. By ordering books and tea, you’re not only supporting my new book, but also a brick-and-mortar independent bookstore. You’re the best. See you tomorrow.”
“Delaney told me about the hundred books.” Jazzi returned Erica’s phone to her. “This will assure we sell them all quickly. Are we prepared to send them out?”
“We will be. I have two teen nieces who like to make extra money. I can convince them to come in Sunday if you want.”
“I want. This Welcome Summer Festival is going to raise our visibility. If we’re a great success this weekend, I’ll have Delaney to thank for enlisting Emilia’s help.”
“And you can thank Theo if Evan Holloway comes through our doors,” Erica reminded her.
Jazzi couldn’t keep her grin from becoming wider. “Theo texted me last night. Plans are still on for Evan Holloway to stop in around four p.m. on Saturday. We’ll have time to reorganize after Emilia’s appearance on Friday.”
“Have you downloaded his music?” Erica slid her phone into her Tomes & Tea apron pocket.
“I’m streaming it on my music app so I’m familiar with it. Hopefully one of us can make a connection with him.”
Erica glanced around the store to see if she was needed anywhere. “He might just want to come in, say hi, and leave again.”
Jazzi took a look around the store for about the hundredth time to make sure everything was in its place. “Theo said Evan won’t be putting the word out on his social media that he’ll be here because the store would get rushed. Better if he mentions Tomes and Tea after the fact. He’ll leave signed photos we can hand out with purchases.”
“That’s smart.” Erica spotted a group of four come in who headed to the tea bar. “I’d better help Dawn.”
As Erica said that, Jazzi noted a customer heading toward the cookbook section. Casper Kowolski. He looked very different today than when she saw him last at his food truck. At his truck, with his red plaid hairband smashing down his black hair and his white apron sometimes smeared with sauce, he worked hard and looked it.
Today, however, he was dressed like most of the locals who browsed in the store. He wore denim shorts and a heather-colored tee, boat shoes, and he was sockless. She crossed to “help” him and maybe talk to him for a few minutes.
“Hi, Casper. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Turning, he recognized her. After all, she and her friends often patronized his food truck. “Hey, Jazzi. Just looking. Though maybe . . .” He pointed to a shelf of books. “Are those new?”
She crossed to the shelf. “These are from an estate sale. Many were never used. I think we have good prices on them. Are you looking for something in particular?”
Standing in front of the shelf, he ran his forefinger over the spines. “Maybe something with Thai spices. I need to change up a few dishes I sell. I’m trying for a broader appeal with tourists and all.”
“I get it. You want to please old and new customers. The Welcome Summer Festival is a terrific time to do it. I think there are two here you might be interested in. They have great photos too.” She pulled out a volume that was almost the size of a coffee table book.
“Wow. That does look brand-new.” He leafed through some pages, running his finger down recipes. Jazzi gave him time to consider the book.
He paged through it. “I hear you’re having quite a book signing tomorrow.” He glanced over his shoulder at the display. “There’s buzz about it going around the trucks.”
Just like any community within a community, the chefs at the trucks gossiped. “We’ve been posting about it on social media all week. Emilia Perez did the same thing this morning.”
“Wow, no wonder the word is getting out. We should all do well with the festival. I guess the next noteworthy event will be the regatta.”
While Casper continued to meander through recipes, they talked about the regatta the following weekend. Jazzi pulled out a second book from the shelf, showed him one section in particular and waited for his thoughts. Instead of giving her his views on the Thai recipes, he closed the book and held it against his chest. “You know, everyone around the marina is talking about Brie Frazier’s murder.”
The non sequitur surprised Jazzi. “I thought talk might have died down by now.”
“No, I think that’s because of the festival. Anyone who owns a business is afraid the murder could damage attendance. I heard some tourists shortened their stay at the Stars Above Resort and the Lakeside Condos.”
“Not surprising,” Jazzi murmured. “Dawn and I put a peephole in our door, and Dawn’s dad attached a better dead bolt. I hate the idea of locking ourselves up inside because we don’t know if there’s someone out there who could hurt us.”
She took a longer look at Casper and decided that, while she had him, maybe he’d answer a few questions. But before she could ask one, he said, “It was even all over the marina about Nolan Johnson yelling at you. No wonder you don’t feel safe.”
Since everyone seemed to know everybody’s business, she’d ease into her questions. “I was getting to know Brie before she was killed. I’m helping her mom go through Brie’s townhouse. Did you know Brie?”
“I don’t know if anyone could really know Brie.” His frown indicated he’d been frustrated by something in their relationship.
“I thought she was fairly open, though I have to admit I didn’t know her long.” If Jazzi played devil’s advocate, she could possibly learn more.
Casper gave out a short grunt. “I thought she was open too when we first went out. But we only dated a few weeks before she cut it off. There was something about me that she didn’t like, I guess.”
Not Brie’s type? Not enough income? Not many future prospects? She’d never know.
“When did you date?”
“In the new year. Then I ran into her again at the maypole celebration on the green. I thought maybe we’d reconnect. We had drinks together.”
“Did you start dating again?”
He shook his head. “No. When I called her to set something up, she seemed on edge, wouldn’t talk about it. She just said now wasn’t a good time.”
“When was now?”
“A week before she was killed.”
Casper looked sad and seemed like a nice guy. But was he?