| |
The Happy Hometown program had the good fortune to have been assigned some coveted office space on the second floor of a historic brick building downtown. Those upper-story locations had become trendy and highly sought after by loft apartment lovers who liked living within walking distance of the shops and restaurants. Ten minutes after leaving the house, I walked upstairs to the office and stood at its bright-red door, which was standing open. I rapped on the doorframe and peered in to find Caitlyn alone. Considering that the bazaar had wrapped up just two days before, I’d expected a flurry of activity.
“Emma, hi. Come in.” She motioned me inside and pointed at her guest chair. “It’s kind of quiet around here this afternoon. I’m trying to figure out where to start with all of Miranda’s plans. We still have the Holiday Gallery Stroll coming up right after Thanksgiving, then early next month, we’ll have Santa Claus on the Square and the Shop Roseland First promotion. I’m not sure I can get all of this done by myself.” She bit her lip, and her eyes looked glassy.
Caitlyn sounded like she was in over her head. Apparently, she was used to taking orders but not giving them. “Can I help? If there’s anything you want to delegate, I’ll be glad to give it a shot.”
“Would you?” Her shoulders sagged. “Miranda never thought I was up to being in charge of any of our signature events, and maybe she was right.”
From what I’d seen, Caitlyn was more than capable of leading those affairs. I hated to learn that Miranda had made Caitlyn doubt herself.
“That’s nonsense.” I humphed. “Look how you pulled off the finale of the Christmas bazaar on Saturday when no one could find Miranda there at the end.”
Caitlyn grimaced.
Oops. Bad example.
“I mean, obviously the murder cast a shadow over everything, but prior to that, the exhibitors were happy, and I had my most successful sales ever at a Christmas bazaar. If you hadn’t helped plan the event and publicize it so well that half of Georgia came through, it wouldn’t have been a success.”
Caitlyn offered a tepid smile. “Thanks, but the fact remains that the leader of our Happy Hometown program is gone, and with her are all those plans she had. Many of them existed only in her head.”
I couldn’t imagine that was true. “Didn’t you guys have a calendar somewhere? Something on your computer, maybe?”
Caitlyn nodded and reached into a file drawer. “Right here.” She pulled out a bulky folder. “Miranda always printed out an exhaustive to-do list for us each Monday and included follow-up tasks from the week before. You’re welcome to check it out.” She handed over the folder.
I scanned the latest list, and the current week was indeed a busy one. In addition to a follow-up meeting about the bazaar, Miranda had scheduled committee meetings, meetings with city leaders, meetings with some new volunteers, and the monthly Happy Hometown board meeting. That last one, not surprisingly, had already been rescheduled.
Then I looked at the follow-up list from the week before and found a curious handwritten notation: Check on possible lawsuit.
“I don’t mean to be too nosy here,” I said, which was a complete lie, “but what is this ‘possible lawsuit’ referenced in the follow-up list?”
“Oh that.” Caitlyn waved a hand dismissively. “Gerald Adams threatened to sue us if the Humane Society didn’t get to have a booth in this year’s bazaar. It was a moot point, since she decided to let them stay in, but Miranda was thinking ahead to next year and wanted to see if the city attorney thought the society had a valid complaint.”
Caitlyn’s desk phone rang, and she stopped to take the call. “I’m sorry, but Miranda’s not here.” After telling the caller that Miranda had passed away unexpectedly over the weekend, Caitlyn choked up and explained that she was the acting executive director.
As she finished her call, I checked my watch. I had planned to make a grocery run before heading to the post office, but that could wait. She hung up and let out a deep sigh. Caitlyn looked so forlorn that I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.
“Guess your dance card’s pretty full this week, huh?”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. I feel like I’ve talked to half the town already. People who liked Miranda want to say how sorry they are that she’s gone. People who didn’t like her want to tell me stories about her, as if it’s supposed to make me feel better about her being gone.”
I grimaced. “That’s weird.”
“Tell me about it.” Caitlyn pulled a file folder from a stack on her desk. “And you won’t believe this, but I’ve even had a few people call up to schmooze, since they think I’m going to be in charge of vendor registrations for next year’s bazaar.”
“Gee, why’d they let so much time go by?”
“Exactly, and—”
Another phone call interrupted us, and while Caitlyn fielded questions about the holiday open house, I stood and wandered over to a wall displaying some of Miranda’s diplomas and awards.
When Caitlyn finished her call, I walked over and asked, “Were you and Miranda close?”
“Like friends?”
I nodded.
“No. I was definitely just her underling.”
“The two of you never socialized?”
“Not unless we had to, like at a lunch with city officials or something. I don’t think she liked me very much.”
I pondered that. “Why do you think that was? The two of you just didn’t gel or what?”
Caitlyn shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. I tried to get to know her, but Miranda had so many walls up that I knew she didn’t want us to become friends, so I kept everything strictly professional.”
“Did she have any friends here in town?”
Caitlyn looked up, as if giving that some consideration. “Honestly, I can’t think of ever seeing her with any. I know she was tight with the mayor and some people at city hall, but I never saw her going to lunch or dinner with anyone, and no friends came by the office to see her, if that’s what you mean. Every meeting she ever had and everything I heard her discuss on the phone had to do with getting Happy Hometown up and running.”
“So you have no idea what she did in her free time?”
She pursed her lips before speaking. “She sure liked to keep up with the news back in Rochester.”
“Why’s that?”
“She was always looking on the town’s website or Facebook page or something. Honestly, she seemed to love that town so much that I once asked her why she moved here.”
“And her answer?”
“She was kind of snippy about it, actually. Said it wasn’t my business but that it was a good career opportunity and she thought she could help Roseland make headlines.”
I bit my lip. “She certainly succeeded in that, huh?”
Caitlyn’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I guess she did.” But then her eyes turned glassy again, and she stared off into the distance. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep all the plates spinning with her gone. And I hate to think I might let everyone down right when this program was getting launched. Do you think the city will shut us down because of what happened at the bazaar?”
“Look, this Christmas show has been going on for decades now, right? So it was going strong long before Miranda came to town, and it will still be going strong next year. We’ll make sure of it.”
I hoped I sounded more enthusiastic than I felt. Next year’s attendees would likely have heard about the current year’s disaster, and the tragedy would be on people’s minds. Then again, with the current level of interest in the macabre, Miranda’s murder might actually boost attendance next year, although I felt guilty for even thinking that.
Then I had another thought. “Do you know anything about Miranda’s family? I would think that funeral arrangements are underway by now.”
“The only thing I know about that is the mayor asked me to start boxing up her personal possessions. Said his understanding is that her body will be flown back home, and she’ll be buried there.”
I looked at my watch again and was about to head out when Caitlyn reached for my hand.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“Sure.” I sat up straighter. “Shoot.”
“You used to work for the newspaper, right?”
Oh no. I hoped she didn’t want me to ask the Daily Tribune for a favor. I’d been approached about that more times than I could count, and I was never comfortable doing it.
“I was a reporter there several years ago. Why?”
“One of their reporters is supposed to come by to get a statement from me about the bazaar, and I’m thinking he’ll ask me about Miranda.”
I nodded. “That’s probably a safe bet.”
“So should I go ahead and talk about the murder up front, or do I wait and see what he asks?”
“Personally, I’d rather bring up the topic myself. That way, you won’t be playing defense, and the reporter won’t think you’re trying to cover up anything.”
“What if I said something like ‘I want to start by saying how very shocked and saddened we were by the untimely death of our executive director, Miranda Hargrove.’ Would that work?”
Caitlyn looked relieved when I told her that would be a good approach, and I helped her finesse her statement. I told her not to memorize it, because she didn’t want to sound too rehearsed, and I suggested it might help to have a few key points in mind. I also said she might want to type up four or five bullet points emphasizing those remarks and hand the document directly to the reporter.
She seemed to like that idea. Most people were worried about misspeaking with the press, but it wasn’t like the Trib was some muckraking rag. Whatever statement she gave them would be fine.
After assuring her it was okay to call if she needed my help, I headed downstairs, out the door, and to my car, mentally compiling a list of all the jewelry I needed to make once I got home that evening. I still had jewelry orders to mail, and I was determined to drop them off at the post office before my arts council meeting.
So I dashed inside the post office and got to my meeting five minutes late. Trish, who had recently agreed to serve a third year as president, was going over a few changes to the minutes. Martha was eating a doughnut, Shareta was uncapping some bottled tea, and Savannah and Gus were sitting side by side, leaned in as they appeared to be reading a flyer.
All eyes turned my way when I lumbered in with my giant purse-slash-tote bag. “Sorry I’m late. Had to squeeze in a post office run.” I tried to slip into a seat a few spots down from Gus without causing any further commotion.
Trish smiled at me. “No worries. We were just amending the minutes to note that the treasurer’s report hadn’t been finalized in last month’s minutes, and now it has been. At that point, we had a balance of nineteen thousand dollars and some change.”
“That’s great. Isn’t that much higher than where we were at the same time last year?”
Trish nodded. “We’ve had an outstanding year. The spring art show and sale was a hit, and the quarterly gallery strolls brought in a lot of new members, too, including some new folks eager to support everything we do.”
“Oh?” I hadn’t yet heard any preliminary figures for the year.
“With the new sponsorships and the ones we already had, that gives us an updated balance of twenty-two thousand dollars, and we’ve gained seventeen new members over the past year, which I think is great.”
Martha wadded up the napkin with her doughnut crumbs. “So does this mean we can give more art scholarships?” Martha might have a reputation as the council’s curmudgeon, but she was our most passionate member when it came to promoting the arts among Roseland’s youth. She liked nothing better than to stand on the stage at Roseland High each May and hand out art scholarships worth a few thousand dollars.
“Now, Martha”—Trish raised a hand—“I can’t speak to that. The full board will have to vote on any effort to increase the scholarship commitments, although I, for one, would be happy to consider it. We’ve also got to look at those new expenses we’ll have in the first quarter of the new year.”
“New expenses?” Shareta’s brow furrowed.
“The new website, remember?”
“Ah yes. We’ve been talking about it for so long that I’d forgotten.”
“I think we’d all just about given up on ever getting it.” Trish glanced at Bob Mathis. “But thanks to Bob here, we’re finally going to get that long-overdue redesign.”
“Don’t thank me. A lot of people made this happen.” Bob looked around the table. “All it took was a little campaigning from the artists... and a reminder to my little brother that he might want my help next time he’s up for reelection.”
Everyone laughed. Bob was famously proud of his brother’s role as Roseland’s mayor, and the mayor was in no danger of losing Bob’s support.
“So Jim Mathis somehow helped us get the money for this? Or what?” Shareta looked puzzled, and I had forgotten that she was still new to the board.
Trish spoke up. “The city got a grant that was earmarked for promoting technology in the community. We agreed to find some local high school students who could help us with our technology project, and that made it clear to the city that the arts council website update would be a perfect fit. Kids get real-world design experience with working artists. We get a basically free website redesign and the opportunity to mentor students. We’ll have some new hosting fees next year, but I think they’ll be well worth it.”
Shareta nodded and looked impressed. “Sounds like a win-win situation, then.”
“It is,” Trish replied. “And with the new website, we’ll have the ability to showcase our artwork, feature artist profiles of our members, accept new-member applications online, host on-demand video art courses, create surveys about the community’s art needs”—she paused for a breath—“and a lot of other cool things we haven’t even dreamed up yet.”
Savannah added, “Some of the students were there and filmed the grand finale at the Christmas bazaar, but of course now, that footage is in evidence over at the police station. We definitely don’t want to splash that tragedy all over the internet.”
Martha, who had just polished off a can of Coca-Cola, groaned. “I thought I’d seen everything in this town, but even I had never seen a murder onstage at a public event.”
For a few moments, no one said anything.
Gus broke the silence. “Have the police gotten any leads about who killed her?”
“I hear they don’t have a clue.” Bob looked annoyed. All eyes were on him, and he obviously felt the need to clarify his remarks. “My brother hasn’t mentioned it to me or anything, but from all the local rumors, it sounds like the police know she wasn’t exactly the most popular person in town. But then again, not liking somebody and wanting to kill them are two entirely different things.”
Before I could muse further on that, Trish asked who had something to share for show-and-tell.
“I do.” Martha wiggled her head, and her tight gray curls bounced. “Let me just get it out of my bag over there.”
An art quilter, Martha had started experimenting with collage-style pictorial quilts. I loved that our eighty-something member had such a loose, nontraditional style of quilting. She walked over to a large black tote bag, pulled out a quilt backed with red fabric, and shook it open to its full width.
“Martha!” Savannah’s eyes widened.
“Is that who I think it is?” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Somehow, Martha had managed to cut out tiny strips of fabric and appliqued them in a design that bore a remarkable resemblance to her beloved cocker spaniel.
“If you’re thinking Bitsy, you’re right.” Martha looked as pleased as punch.
Trish rose from her seat and walked over to the quilt, and after studying it for a few moments, she turned to Martha. “May I?”
“Certainly. It’s not fragile.”
Trish fingered one of the folds of fabric and appeared to examine the detail of the stitching. “You did this on your machine?”
“I sure did. You’d be surprised what all these new machines can do these days. And listen, feel free to touch it. It’s sturdier than it looks. Kind of like me.”
Gus laughed. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of art quilts in the galleries I’ve visited over the years, but this one is just the bomb.”
“I’m glad you think so”—Martha pointed at Gus—“because your group is going to get it as a Christmas gift.”
“Huh?”
“The Humane Society. To get him off my back, I promised Gerald that I would make a quilt for the society to use as a fundraiser. He hasn’t even seen it yet, so I hope he likes it.”
“If he doesn’t love it as much as the rest of us do, he’s off his rocker.” Gus was never one to mince words.
“Maybe it’ll put him in a better mood too,” Martha said.
Bob looked confused. “Why is he in a bad mood?”
“Oh, that dustup with Miranda at the bazaar. Now he blames Happy Hometown for the fact that they didn’t have as many pet adoptions there as he’d hoped this year. He’s really got it in for her.”
Savannah spoke up. “But the poor woman’s gone now, Martha. Don’t you think it’s time he lets that go?”
“Sure I do, but I can’t make him get over it. Before the bazaar, he seemed determined to prove that he was promised much more than the society got that day. He said he had some kind of contract from Miranda. A few of the members got angry about the situation, and I heard they were threatening to show up at a city council meeting to try to get her fired. Of course, there’s no need now.”
Apparently sensing that the conversation was going off the rails, Trish released the quilt to Martha’s waiting hands. “This really is magnificent. I’m sure it’ll be a hit for the raffle, and please let us know as soon as tickets go on sale.”
“Yes!” Gus grinned. “I want the first ten.”
Trish and Martha returned to their seats at the table, and Trish opened a folder. “Listen, everyone, I don’t want to waste time, so here.” She handed a sheaf of papers to Shareta. “This is a list of all the events we’re planning next year. Everybody, take one and look it over. We’ve got lots of exhibits, some lectures, and scholarship night at the high school, and I’d like for us to take a Saturday for a council retreat sometime in March or April if we can find a date that works for everyone.”
The room grew silent as we scanned the list. Within minutes, everyone was offering their thoughts on which activities were worth pursuing as a group and which ones probably weren’t worth our time. I saw a couple of new events where I hoped to have a booth. The one in May would be a great place to sell jewelry before Mother’s Day. I drew a star by that listing to remind myself to check into the festival registration ASAP. There’d been so much competition just to get into the Roseland Christmas bazaar that I wasn’t going to sit around and let the slots fill up before I got my application in.
The rest of the meeting focused on board business and policy matters, like forming a committee to update the bylaws. Since I still enjoyed writing and found it less painful than the others did, I volunteered to serve on that committee. And at seven o’clock on the dot, Trish closed her notebook and asked if there was any other business.
As if on cue, someone knocked on the doorframe—that tall artist guy in the paint-splattered vest.
“Tyler, you came!” Gus sprang out of her chair, went to the door, and ushered him in. “Trish said I could introduce you to everyone at the close of the meeting, and this is perfect timing. Tyler, please meet my fellow members of the arts council.”
“Have a seat.” I pointed at the chair between Gus and me, and Tyler thanked me and sat down.
Tyler explained that he was back in town after having moved away for a few years. “Gus tells me this is the place for artists to be. I stay busy with my acrylics, just like all of you with your art, I’m sure, but I also want to get involved here in Roseland.”
Bob was beaming. “I’ve been dying to get another male on this board, so if I can help make that happen, you just let me know what you need, brother.”
Everyone laughed. As Tyler talked about his art education and training, I studied his vest. My mind wandered as I thought about how many paintings were represented on it. That dab of green could be a tree or a flower. The grays and blacks might be stormy skies. Not surprisingly, some stray threads and bits of white fuzz were sticking to a few blobs of paint. I could only hope he had some way of keeping the thing halfway hygienic.
“So that’s my story, and I sure appreciate you folks letting me stop by tonight.”
Trish adjourned the meeting, and while Bob was first to slip out, I noted that Savannah and Gus—especially Gus—seemed to have a lot of questions for Tyler. Soon, the three of them left together. Shareta and Martha spent a few minutes discussing what sounded like some sewing technique, then Shareta helped Martha refold her quilt and wriggle it back into her tote bag.
While they talked fabric, I sidled up to Trish and lowered my voice. “I’m assuming Erin told you that I’m the one who got her to forward those photos to the police department Saturday night. I hope you don’t mind me asking her to send those on.”
“Not at all.” Trish smiled warmly. “But when I asked Erin how you happened to see those photos, she wouldn’t look at me and was a little vague about it. What were the girls doing when you saw the photos?”
I sighed. “Just being teenagers. You know, passing around the photos like we’d have done at their age, right?”
Trish humphed. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But anytime you see my kid doing something questionable, feel free to jump in. Or let me know. Or both. Okay?”
I helped her tidy up the remaining papers on the table and, since it was already dark outside, asked Shareta if we could walk out together. She agreed.
When we got outside the library, Shareta cleared her throat. “I didn’t want to ask this in front of everyone else, especially considering what’s still being said about Miranda, but I actually had terrific sales at the bazaar. If you don’t mind my asking, it looked like you had pretty good sales as well. Yeah?”
I nodded. “It was my best event of the whole year, and I have zero complaints about my booth setup. Everything went off like clockwork.”
Shareta wore a sheepish grin. “I hear you. It may have ended badly, but just between us, I couldn’t have been happier with the crowd. Miranda might not have had very good people skills, but according to almost everyone I’ve talked to, it was a banner year for the bazaar. And more important, for the exhibitors and charities who benefited.”
We said good night, and on the drive home, I thought about all I’d learned that day, from Gerald’s still-simmering rage to the never-ending list of Miranda’s enemies to Jen’s news about possibly looking for a new job. The bazaar itself seemed so long ago, yet only two days had passed.
As soon as I walked into the house, Miriam Haskell rounded a corner from the living room and purred loudly.
“Miss me?” After cuddling with my kitty for a few minutes, I microwaved a cup of soup from the pantry and scarfed it down, hungrier than I’d realized. Miriam planted herself by the kitchen table while I ate, emitting enough accusing meows to remind me that I had been AWOL for too long to suit her.
Once I finished eating, I pulled out my jewelry supplies and got to work. Michele wanted more of my beaded bracelets and earrings for the Feathered Nest, and the faster I got them to her, the faster customers could scoop them up. I glanced at the clock. Yikes. I was way behind on work for the evening. Being my own boss was fine until I realized the boss had been a slacker, saying yes to everyone else and procrastinating with my own work.
As I worked at the kitchen table, my mind drifted back to Saturday’s tragedy. How could a person be so brazen and kill someone near such a well-attended Christmas bazaar? Who would plan to commit a murder in public like that?
But perhaps the killer hadn’t planned to kill Miranda at all. What if someone got into a fight with her and it was a crime of passion?
Once I finished threading beads onto a new bracelet and was pleased with the look, I tied off the elastic thread and secured the piece on an Emma Madison Designs card so that it was ready to go to Michele’s shop the next morning.
Even though she hadn’t done her shopping there until late Saturday, Michele had served on the organizing committee for the bazaar. I would ask about her experiences with Miranda in the weeks and months leading up to the bazaar.
Before I knew it, a dozen pieces of jewelry were finished and ready for customers. I gathered the designs, put them in a tote, and made a list of questions to ask Michele. A few simple inquiries wouldn’t hurt anything.
And the sooner I got Miranda off my mind, the sooner I could focus on my jewelry business.