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At nine o’clock Monday morning, the Cupcake Café was abuzz. I had stopped by for a caramel macchiato and a Danish on the way to work the morning shift at the Foothills Gallery. Lots of folks who worked downtown stopped by the bakery to fuel their morning, so it wasn’t unusual to encounter a crowd there.
As I inhaled the pleasant scents of freshly baked bread and cinnamon, Mavis hustled behind her spick-and-span yellow counter, which was always a bright contrast against the old black-and-white tile floor. She looked harried as she refilled an empty doughnut tray with fresh crullers and rang up customers. I was early for my shift and not on a tight schedule, so I took a seat at one of the small round tables, pulled out my phone, and gave a final proofread to the press release I’d drafted for Mayor Mathis. I’d already taken the liberty of writing the piece about Caitlyn being named acting executive director of the Happy Hometown program. When I’d called the mayor that morning, I explained that since we’d all “forgotten” to notify the media of Sunday’s meeting, I thought it might help us avoid any criticism by getting ahead of the issue. He agreed and asked whether I had time to draft something for him. I sent the draft before I left the house, and he’d already written back with his approval. After reading it over a final time, I sent the press release to Jen’s work email at the Trib.
Just as I was about to check my Facebook feed, Mavis sat down across from me, brushed her cheek, and smeared what I guessed was flour on it. “So, have you learned anything yet?”
I tucked my phone into my purse. “About what?”
“Miranda’s murder. What else? That’s all anyone’s talking about this morning. And to be honest, it doesn’t surprise me one bit that she ended up the way she did.” She fingered the ribbon ties at the front of her cheerful yellow bib apron, which had the Cupcake Café logo embroidered on it.
I leaned in. “And why’s that? Did you know Miranda personally?”
“Didn’t know ’er well”—Mavis raised her eyebrows—“but well enough. She came in here a couple of times to buy breakfast pastries for the Happy Hometown board meetings back before I joined the board. The first time, she tried to get me to give ’em to her for free. Said it would be ‘good publicity’ for my shop.”
I grinned. People were always jonesing for free food and merchandise from the shop owners. “Can I assume you made her pay?”
“Shoot yeah.” Mavis’s brow furrowed. “How was it supposed to help me if the head of some committee, who’d been eating here for ten years, got a free doughnut? Anyway, she acted like it killed her to have to come by here and pay for things, but she did. She was one of those women who stayed on her phone all the time. To be honest with you, I got tired of listening to her private conversations.”
“Nothing work related?”
“Oh, sometimes. She was always in a tussle with somebody in town. I heard her fuss about the mayor, the city council, and even Caitlyn, which is kind of ironic, considering that’s who’s replacing her.”
“Caitlyn Hill tangled with Miranda?”
“Oh yeah.” Mavis looked at me over her silver-rimmed bifocals. “I’m surprised she and Miranda worked together as long as they did.”
One of the shop’s employees came by and asked for help with a cake recipe, so Mavis excused herself for a few minutes. While she was away, I pulled out my phone and checked an eBay listing I was following. The seller was offering a huge bag of orphaned vintage earrings, exactly the kind of pieces I needed for my Ruby & Doris line. And I still had the high bid—$7.95 for forty-something clip-ons. My fingers were crossed.
Mavis returned to the table with a cup of coffee, and I put my phone away, eager to follow up on our earlier conversation. “You were saying that Miranda had gotten crossways with Caitlyn. What was the problem?”
She shrugged. “Not sure. But Miranda was always hateful to her on the phone, ordering her around and having her run personal errands. One time, Miranda told her to go pick up her dry cleaning, and she wanted Caitlyn to dicker with the owners about a stain they couldn’t get out. That stuck with me, that Miranda wanted Caitlyn to take care of her dirty work like that. No pun intended.”
I frowned. “I wonder if Caitlyn minded. Maybe that arrangement was okay with her.”
Mavis finished her coffee and plopped her mug onto the table. “I can’t speak to that, but I do know that Caitlyn came in here one day and—” She looked around the café as if making sure we wouldn’t be overheard. “Told some friend she was with that Miranda was the evilest woman she’d ever met. She said she couldn’t wait till something blew up so that Miranda would have to leave and move to another town.”
My eyes widened. “Was she serious?”
“Yes, ma’am. She was as serious as a heart attack.” Mavis peered at me over her glasses and straightened her bib-style apron. “And she also said something like ‘She wouldn’t want everyone in town to know about her little problem, would she?’”
“Any idea what that was about?”
“No, but I wish I did.”
“But you didn’t mention anything about that at the board meeting yesterday, so...”
Mavis grimaced. “After my dealings with Miranda, I kind of understood where Caitlyn was coming from. Caitlyn’s been just fine to me, and I think she knows her stuff, so I figure the personal goings-on between Miranda and her don’t matter anymore.”
I glanced at my watch and confirmed that I needed to get going. I thanked Mavis for the tasty breakfast and headed down the sidewalk to the Foothills Gallery. Caitlyn had seemed so upset when Miranda’s body was discovered at the bazaar. What if that was an act? What if she had something to do with Miranda’s death?
Shaking off the questions that bubbled up, I told myself not to rent any space in my head to a murder investigation. Not my circus, not my monkeys. Besides, Roseland’s downtown was swiftly transforming into its annual winter wonderland of twinkling lights and magical window displays, and I didn’t want to spoil the upcoming holidays by worrying about something that wasn’t my responsibility anyway.
Trying to shut the unpleasantness out of my mind, I admired the festive windows ahead. Skinner’s Bike Shop had a buff, super-fit Santa in red Spandex sitting atop one of the latest bicycle models. The shop’s display skipped Thanksgiving entirely, but that was the trend lately. Next door, Lamberson Jewelry Company had decided to have it both ways, giving nods to Thanksgiving as well as Christmas. Customers who entered downtown’s oldest jewelry store were greeted by themed display windows on the left and the right. At the left, a whimsical stuffed turkey presided over a display of gold chains and bracelets and chunky topaz rings that sparkled in the morning light. The windows on the right-hand side of the store were home to a glittering display of the latest in fine jewelry, featuring ruby and emerald fashion rings showcased in red and green velvet boxes amid a sea of colorful glass ornaments. The vintage pink speckled tile at the store entrance was such a fifties throwback, but it made me smile. I loved every drop of Roseland’s historic charm.
I headed on and hoped the gallery would have a busy morning with lots of customers. I unlocked the shop, turned on the overhead pendant lamps, and inhaled the comforting scent of the lemon wax used on the antique wooden countertop and tables.
Just as I stored my belongings behind the counter, the bell on the front door jangled, and who was there to shop so bright and early but Detective Shelton. I wondered what he wanted.
“Good morning.” He tipped his head.
“Morning.” I aimed for pleasant but had my guard up after his huffy manner during our conversations Saturday night and Sunday morning. “Are you looking for something in particular, or did you just want to look around?”
“Actually”—he nodded toward the door—“I saw you enter the store a few minutes ago, and since I had a couple of questions for you, I hoped you wouldn’t mind answering them... unless some customers come in, of course.”
“Sure. What can I help you with?”
He pulled his small blue spiral-bound notebook out of his pocket and flipped through a few pages. “What can you tell me about Caitlyn Hill, Miranda’s assistant there at the Happy Hometown program?”
Caitlyn’s name again. Interesting.
“Not much. I talked to her when I filled out my application for an exhibitor space in the show, and I’ve seen her at a few meetings since I recently joined the Happy Hometown board. I can’t say I know her all that well.”
“Have you ever witnessed Miranda and her having a confrontation?”
“No, I can’t say that I’ve ever personally witnessed anything like that.”
I wasn’t about to feel guilty for not telling him what Mavis had disclosed earlier that morning. I was in no mood for the lecture that would surely follow: “Emma, we don’t need to know what sort of hearsay you’re picking up around town.” No, thanks.
“Since you’ve been on the board, no bad blood between those two?”
“Not that I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s all I wanted to ask you, then.” He closed his notebook and looked around the shop. He hesitated as if he wanted to ask something more.
I cleared my throat. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I get back to work?”
“Yeah, I wondered if you had any more of those beaded necklace-and-earring sets like the ones I bought earlier this year for my mom and sister. They really liked them, and with Christmas coming up...”
He wants to buy more of my jewelry? Would wonders never cease.
I gave him my best shopkeeper smile. “Here”—I waved at a plaid-skirted table—“are some of my newest Christmas designs. I have sets in Christmas colors as well as the more popular fashion colors. Green and blue are always good choices, and turquoise is still going strong this season. I’ll leave you to look through these, and if I can help, just let me know.”
What a hypocrite you are, Emma. The man turned from officer to potential customer, and suddenly my opinion of him did a complete one-eighty.
He looked me in the eye. “Thanks. I always like to shop local, and I know they’d like to have something else you’ve made.”
Sheesh. I wasn’t expecting this.
Actually, he was a nice-looking man and around my age, but I wasn’t about to fall for a police officer. I’d covered too many of them early in my reporting career and knew the pitfalls of getting involved with someone in law enforcement, however much I might admire them. Officers had a dangerous career, worked late hours, and were often married to the job. Besides, I was still waiting to see where things went with Justin. So nopety-nope-nope to thinking about the detective in that way.
While he made his selections, I tidied up a display of scarves and gloves knitted by a Roseland woman whose pieces we carried on consignment. Her lacy, elegant designs never stayed in the shop long.
A gray-haired couple came in and said they wanted to check out Bob Mathis’s bowls and lamps. While they browsed, Detective Shelton made his way to the front to check out. I rang up his purchases—a green set and a turquoise set, just as I’d recommended—and was packaging them in Christmas bags with tissue paper when Jen rushed through the door and up to the counter.
“Oh, hi there, Alan. You can hear this too.” With a glance at the couple studying the lamps, she lowered her voice and looked at me. “We just got an anonymous tip that Gerald Adams was overheard looking for his misplaced lanyard on Saturday evening about an hour before Miranda’s body was discovered. Did you hear anything about that when you were there?”
Detective Shelton cut his eyes at me before he turned to Jen. “If you’ve got something that involves our investigation, I’d really prefer it if you didn’t publish it in the newspaper until you talk to us first.”
Jen narrowed her eyes. “Look, we don’t print gossip in the newspaper. If someone wants to go on the record with something, sure, but we don’t do unsubstantiated rumors. You know that.”
“Then why are you here talking to Emma?”
“Because”—Jen crossed her arms—“she happens to be my best friend and she was at the bazaar during the time in question.”
He held up a hand. “Fine. I just don’t want”—he looked at me—“some people in town to get the wrong idea and think they need to help us investigate. We sure don’t need anyone getting in our way.”
“Understood, Detective.” Jen, whose husband, Todd, was friends with the detective, obviously didn’t have the same strained relationship with him that I had. Once Jen excused herself to get back to the office, the officer clammed up.
He accepted the two festive-looking gift bags I handed over, I thanked him, and he left without saying another word.