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When I arrived downtown Tuesday morning, the electric company’s bucket trucks filled the streets, and workers were busy hanging giant silver tinsel Christmas ornaments around the square. With the holiday season fast approaching, Roseland was teeming with shoppers. And no wonder, because during the holidays, Roseland outdid herself. Trees surrounding the old courthouse were dripping with garlands of twinkling white lights, and the trunks were wrapped in a spiral of illumination as well.
That fall, the Happy Hometown program had encouraged shops and offices to paint a wooden Christmas tree using one of the bases made from cutout pallets donated by a local lumber company. The trees were being used to encourage competition between the merchants and raise more funds that would benefit the area’s foster children. Customers got to vote on their favorites by placing coins in a jar near the counter—with each cent equaling one vote—and after the coins were counted, winners would be named, and the proceeds would be used to provide a merry Christmas for local children. All the businesses wanted to win, and from what I’d seen on social media, the competition was getting fierce.
To absolutely no one’s surprise, Michele Fairchild’s Christmas tree entry outside the Feathered Nest was a stunner. She had spruced up the simple plywood tree with frosty paints in gumdrop shades of pink, turquoise, and lavender. Colorful miniature birds danced among the branches, and up top, in a nod to her store’s name, baby birds sat in a nest, with fluffy white feathers blowing in the breeze. If she didn’t take first place, that contest was clearly rigged.
Michele was proud of her shop’s history, and her newly decorated Christmas window paid homage to its past as a millinery shop. She’d created a mini version of the old shop and had some darling miniature hats on display. Behind the storekeeper’s wooden counter were beautifully dressed doll clerks, including one with a Gibson Girl upswept do, her leg o’ mutton sleeves billowing over her full-length gown as she presented a miniature hat and hatbox to her customer. I wondered, and not for the first time, where Michele got all of her fabulous ideas.
Satisfied that I’d soaked up every last detail of her latest window display, I entered the store.
“Emma, I’m so glad to see you.” Michele sidled up to me and handed over a small paper napkin with a cookie on it. “Have a pumpkin spice sugar cookie before I eat some more of them myself.”
As I chomped a bite of cookie, I glanced at the napkin, a retro-looking design featuring what appeared to be a 1950s Santa Claus graphic. I swallowed the rest of the cookie and pointed at the crumbs. “Never had a pumpkin-flavored sugar cookie before, and I like it!” I was impressed. “And I adore these napkins. Please tell me they’re for sale.”
Michele pointed at a table stacked high with plates and platters, dip bowls and spreaders, and napkins in all shapes and sizes. “It’s a new line I found at the mart earlier this year. Aren’t they sweet?”
They were, so I snatched two packages of the Santa napkins in case the other shoppers heard us talking and got any wild ideas.
A gray-haired woman and a little girl stood near the register. Michele handed them each a cheese straw. “And these are made by a local woman using her great-aunt Josephine’s secret family recipe. See what you think.”
The woman and the girl accepted the samples, and Michele looked up in time to give me a smile and wave me over. “Come here. You have to try one of these too. They’re getting rave reviews.”
I accepted a cheese straw and took a bite. She was right—it was delicious, with just the lightest touch of cayenne pepper. “What’s the cheese in these?”
Michele had popped one into her mouth as well. “Pimiento,” she mumbled between bites.
The gray-haired woman spoke up. “My granddaughter and I are having a Thanksgiving tea party for her dolls this afternoon, so I’ll take a package of these, too, please.”
A few quick taps of the register and Michele had the woman on her way with a huge shopping bag that I assumed was packed with either Thanksgiving treats or Christmas gifts—possibly both.
“I hope you’ve brought me some more of those vintage-looking bracelets.” Michele pointed toward the door. “That woman who just left? She has four daughters and bought one for each of them.” Michele glanced over at the table where she displayed jewelry and accessories, and the rack that usually displayed my bangles had one lone bracelet left.
I held up my newly filled hamper.
“Your timing’s perfect.” Michele nodded at my red tote and bustled around the table as I hung bracelets on the display rack. “Let me put one of my holiday candles right here. When someone asks what that yummy scent is, and they will, I can tell them it’s the same candle that’s on the table with the locally designed jewelry.”
“Clever.” I loved all the creative ways that local shopkeepers enticed customers to make a purchase, especially when the purchase was my jewelry.
Michele spaced out the six new bracelets I’d hung and adjusted the beaded necklace-and-earring sets so that they filled the table. “There. Much better.” No other customers had entered the shop, and Michele glanced toward the front door. “So, have you heard anything new on the Miranda Hargrove front?”
“Afraid not. What about you?”
“Zilch.”
“Weren’t you on the organizing committee for the bazaar this year?”
“Yes, but I didn’t work closely with Miranda. And to be honest with you, that was probably best after the way she treated my child.”
“What did Miranda do to Austin?” Miranda’s precocious three-year-old was a mischievous little boy, but he wasn’t a bad child.
Michele rolled her eyes. “I was biting my lip not to mention this at the luncheon on Sunday. Wells says I need to let this go, especially now that the woman’s gone, but you know, when someone mistreats my son, the mama bear in me comes out. When she brought those plywood trees around for the decorating contest, Austin happened to be here, and he started dancing around with mine. You know how excited he gets over Christmas.”
“Like about ninety-nine point nine percent of all kids?”
“Exactly. So when Miranda grabbed the tree from him, she snatched it away so quickly that he got a splinter in one of his fingers and started crying. I knew that wasn’t going to kill him, but there’s no excuse for a grown woman treating a little boy that way, and I told her so.”
I grimaced. “Good for you. I’d probably have done the same thing if I had kids.”
“And she didn’t—how shall I put this?—respond well to the criticism. She said Happy Hometown had put a lot of effort into getting all those plywood pieces donated, and she didn’t want to see one spoiled child damaging one and ruining the chance for all the less-fortunate children to have a happy Christmas.”
“Whew.” I let out a breath. “Let me guess that the conversation did not end well.”
Michele crossed her arms. “It ended just fine for me. I told Miranda that if she was going to stand there and insult my child, especially here with the holiday season upon us, that she was welcome to hightail it back to Lake Wobegon, where the children are all above average.”
I couldn’t help snickering. “You didn’t.”
“Yes, ma’am, I most certainly did, and I’d do it again.” Michele looked pensive. “But of course, I had no idea back then that she was going to an early grave.”
I shuddered. I’d thought only my grandparents used that phrase. “So that was the extent of the exchange?”
She nodded. “Pretty much. I did mention to the mayor the next time I saw him that I didn’t care for Miss Happy Hometown.”
Our poor mayor. I wouldn’t have his job for all the rhinestones in Austria.
“How did he react to that?”
Michele shrugged. “He got defensive and started telling me what a great job she’d been doing. I know for a fact that he’d already had a lot of complaints about her, though, so my beef was probably just one more added to a long, long list of them.”
She reached across the counter and appeared to swipe something away.
“What’re you chasing there?”
Michele shook her head. “Another stray feather. I bought a package of those white ones at the craft store to decorate our tree for the contest, and now I keep finding the little rascals all over the place. Only thing worse is glitter. See?” She turned up a palm and revealed a glittery pink spot. “I spilled some behind the counter when I was working on the tree, and I have never seen glitter spread through a place so fast. It keeps turning up everywhere. If you ever need any for your jewelry...”
I laughed. “Not sure I’ll be using glitter anytime soon, but thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
The store’s twittering chime signaled that more birds were entering the nest. Michele excused herself to go greet the new customers, so I looked around the store and gathered a few ornaments and tea towels to get a start on my Christmas list. The Feathered Nest was a treat to visit at any time of year, but it was a treasure trove during the holidays. Michele had a knack for knowing just what her shoppers wanted, often before they knew it themselves. I was grateful for her steady stream of customers, especially since one of the earlier ones had already bought some of my jewelry.
A forty-something woman with spiky blond hair picked up one of my jewelry sets, and Michele asked her if she would like to meet the designer.
“Sure. Does she live nearby?” the blonde asked.
“She definitely does, and she’s standing right there.” Michele laughed and pointed my way.
“I absolutely love the look of your jewelry.” The woman held up a Ruby & Doris bracelet and sighed. Something about her looked vaguely familiar, but then I saw a lot of women, since they made up most of my customer base.
I thanked her for the praise, then she posed a question I hadn’t seen coming.
“You were in that Christmas show this weekend, weren’t you? And that lady in charge of it got in a fight with someone and ended up dead?” She looked so genuinely curious that I overlooked the crassness of her question.
I gulped. “Um, I was at the Christmas bazaar on Saturday. And yes, I’m afraid many of us were there when everyone learned about the death of the Happy Hometown program’s executive director. I’m not sure I can speak to her getting into a fight with someone, though.”
“One of my friends heard her get into a yelling match with the head of the Humane Society right before the show started. He told her that if she kept the pets out of this year’s show, that would be the last show she ever directed.” She tsked. “Everybody’s talking about it.”
The woman was a busybody, clearly, not that I held that against her. Then I paused to consider whether I wanted to hear one more thing about the murder. Who am I kidding? Of course I do.
“Would your friend be willing to tell the police what she heard?”
“I don’t see why she wouldn’t.”
“Great.” I pulled out a notepad and pen from my purse and handed them over. “I know one of the officers investigating the case, so if you don’t mind giving me your friend’s number, I’ll have him get in touch with her.”
Once I had the information in hand, I headed to the checkout counter and Michele. “I’m assuming you heard all that?”
“Oh yes.” She grimaced. “And everyone knows how uptight Gerald Adams can be. He’s always been an odd bird. Any grown man who still lives in his mother’s basement, well, you’ve got to wonder. Loves his animals, but when he comes before the downtown merchants about anything, he usually rubs people the wrong way.”
“How do you mean?” I placed my Christmas ornaments and tea towels on the counter.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Michele tapped a few prices into her cash register. “Okay, so over the summer, the merchants were getting ready for our Back-to-School Bash, and Gerald wanted to have a pet adoption on the square at the same time. We were fine with that, but then, when we voted to set out collection cans to raise funds for school supplies for needy children, he thought we should have donations for pets too.”
“But the pets weren’t going back to school, so...?”
Michele frowned. “I know, right? So we told Gerald he could have his adoptions, and he did, but he’d branded us all as animal haters because we didn’t focus our back-to-school event on pets too.”
I shook my head. “That’s crazy.”
She nodded.
After Michele packaged my purchases, I said my goodbyes and headed to the police station. First thing, I stopped by Evelyn’s desk and asked whether Detective Shelton was in.
“I think he is, hon. Let me ring his office and check.” She punched a number into her desk phone. “Hey, Alan. Emma Madison is here and would like to speak with you. Do you have time? Okay, I’ll tell her.”
Evelyn hung up and said he was almost finished meeting with another detective and would come to the reception desk shortly. I had time to wait.
While we waited for the detective to arrive, Evelyn caught me up on her family. Soon, I heard footsteps coming down the hall. Detective Shelton said hello and asked how he could help me.
“Actually, I’m hoping I have something to help you.” I held out the piece of paper with the phone number provided by the customer at the Feathered Nest. “Now, I don’t want you to think I’m out there nosing around in your investigation, but—”
Evelyn’s snicker caused us both to look her way. She feigned innocence and dove for a stack of files in her desk drawer.
“Let’s step into my office,” the detective said, and I followed him down the hall, walking at a clip to keep up. He ushered me in and motioned to a seat. “So, what’s this about?”
“This may or may not be anything, but I overheard something this morning that I wanted to make sure you’re aware of. You probably know this already, so forgive me if this is a repeat, but a woman at the Feathered Nest said her friend overheard Gerald Adams threatening Miranda at the bazaar on Saturday.”
“Go on.”
“So did you know about that already?”
“Now, Emma, you know this is an active investigation and—”
“Oh, good grief. If you’ve heard it already, I’ll just throw away this woman’s name and number. If you haven’t, I’ll give it to you. What do you want me to do, Detective?”
He bit his lip. If he said no, he hadn’t known, he would be admitting he wanted my help. If he said yes, he did know, he would be disclosing information about his investigation.
Not surprisingly, he hedged his bets. “Whether it’s something we already know or not, it’s always smart to follow up with anyone who may have direct knowledge pertaining to an investigation.” He sighed and held out his hand. “So yes, I would appreciate your giving me the information.”
I met his eyes. “No problem.” I reached into my purse for the piece of paper, suddenly grateful that I always kept a couple of notepads handy. I never knew when I might need to jot down a few notes about jewelry inspiration. Or murder suspects, apparently.
“Thank you. And...”
“Yes?” Is he finally going to show a little gratitude for my help?
“While I appreciate you bringing this to our attention, I’d just like to remind you that this investigation is being handled by the police department. We’d appreciate it if you kept in mind that a murder investigation is by definition a dangerous undertaking, so we strongly encourage civilians not to get involved.”
I blinked. I’d just given him information for his case, yet he still couldn’t resist giving me a lecture. And I couldn’t resist letting him know precisely what I thought of that.
“Certainly, Detective. But just for the record, even as a ‘civilian,’ I’m more than aware that an investigation of murder might be ‘a dangerous undertaking,’ as you put it. But hey, I’ll make sure I don’t bother you again.”
Humph. I turned and walked out of the detective’s office. If that was his idea of gratitude, he wouldn’t be getting any further help out of me.
***
AS I WALKED INTO MY house around noon, the heady aromas of curry and garam masala wafted through the air. Indian butter chicken was in the slow cooker, since Jen and Todd were coming over for dinner. I hadn’t seen Todd in a while and thought it would be nice to dine with him, too, for a change.
While the spicy ingredients filled my house with the exotic scents of India, I wired a few more necklaces and earrings to make sure I had plenty of stock for the Foothills Gallery. After I completed five necklace-and-earring sets and packaged them all, I had time to catch up on the mail that was overflowing in the large basket near the front door. That day’s batch alone was a four-inch-thick stack held together with a big rubber band.
I hefted the basket onto the kitchen table and quickly separated the week’s mail into piles to save and to recycle. Jewelry magazines, keep. Utility bills, pay and recycle. Junky coupon packs, recycle. Then my heart skipped a beat when I saw the return address for the Jewelry Artisans of the Southeast.
Last month, I’d applied online to be in their spring show and snail mailed the required prints of my work. The photos were supposed to be returned by mail if I wasn’t selected for the show, but the business-size envelope before me was thin, as if it held just a single sheet of paper.
Here it is. They’re telling me whether I got into the show next May. With my sterling-silver antique letter opener, a gift from Carleen, I sliced into the envelope and took a deep breath. I promised myself not to be too disappointed if I didn’t make it. It was a prestigious show. Not everyone could get in, especially not every newcomer to the jewelry design world.
“Dear Miss Madison, We are pleased to inform you that—”
“Yes!” Those were the words I’d been longing to read. Getting selected for the JAS show was a great honor for any jewelry designer, but I probably appreciated it more than most. Since I’d never gone to art school, I was still rather insecure around other jewelry artists with professional training. But then, not one customer had ever asked to see my credentials. They judged my work on its own merits, which was how I liked it.
The good news called for a celebration, and I knew just who I wanted to join me. I grabbed my cell phone and tapped a number from my contacts, and Carleen picked up on the second ring.
“Hi there. If you’re not super busy at the Silver Squirrel this afternoon, any chance you could meet me for a coffee at Mavis’s?”
Carleen said she was having a slow day and agreed to meet me there in fifteen minutes. I went to the bathroom to touch up my makeup, and since my hair looked a little unkempt, I ran a brush through it. Using a fabric-covered band that was the same honey-golden shade as my hair, I pulled it back into a sleek ponytail before heading to Mavis’s.
When I got to the café—which still had a few whimsical ghost and goblin decals affixed to the windows—Carleen was waiting. I walked in and joined her at a two-seater. She’d already gotten her order of tea and a chocolate chip cookie, so I said hi to Mavis and ordered a salted caramel and pumpkin spice latte.
“What’s up?” Carleen leaned in and raised an eyebrow. “You sounded excited about something.”
“I am.” I reached into my purse, pulled out an envelope, and handed her my acceptance letter from the Jewelry Artisans of the Southeast. “Check this out.”
She slipped on her readers and pored over the letter. “Emma, this is wonderful!” She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “What fantastic news.”
Carleen and I enjoyed our treats as I babbled about my plans for the jewelry show. I explained that in addition to the pieces shown in the prints I’d sent—the jewelry I would be required to display at the show—I was also encouraged to take more of my work to sell.
“At a show like this, the quality of the work has to be exceptional, right?”
“Mm-hmm.” I finished a sip of my latte. “They’re definitely expecting some one-of-a-kind pieces. In my everyday work, I try to keep things unique but affordable. For this show, though, they say that high-end pieces sell best. You can bet I’ll be using up my secret stash of the finest beads and stones I’ve had tucked away. I’ve never been able to work on pieces where price was no object before.”
Carleen grinned. “This is really a dream come true for you, isn’t it?”
“It is.” I leaned back. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but if I get the publicity and commissions I hear are typical at this show, I might have to consider scheduling shows at more high-end jewelry shops and art galleries.”
Carleen’s eyes lit up. “We’ll do a trunk show!”
“What?”
“After your JAS show. We’ll do a trunk show at the Silver Squirrel to celebrate your success!”
“Oh, I can’t ask you to—”
“You’re not asking me. I’m asking you. We don’t have to nail down details right now, but after your big show next year, I’d love to feature you at my shop. Besides, I always have to work on getting word out that the Silver Squirrel sells more than just heirloom silver. I can work on adding to my fine jewelry and high-end costume jewelry between now and then. It’ll be fun!”
Before my mind could venture too far in that direction, Carleen filled me in on her holiday schedule for the Silver Squirrel. She planned to close the week of Thanksgiving—a buying trip to Charleston was on her agenda—then she would come back and decorate the shop for Christmas.
Eyeing my empty cup, Carleen wanted to know why I hadn’t ordered one of Mavis’s treats to celebrate my good news.
“I’m saving my appetite for a nice dinner with Jen and Todd. They’re coming over in a few hours.”
“Just those two?” She had a twinkle in her eye.
“Yes, why?”
“I thought your new gentleman caller, Justin, might be there. Everything okay on that front?”
Then I realized why she was asking. She probably wondered why my “gentleman caller” hadn’t been invited too. “Justin’s at an art show in Colorado this week.” I sighed. “I miss him, but his paintings have been a real hit at a couple of the finer galleries in Denver, so when he got invited to participate in several shows there, he didn’t feel he could pass up the opportunity.”
Carleen brightened immediately. “Good for him. Sounds like you’re both on the path to becoming famous artists.”
“I’m sure doing my part.”
“And if you don’t mind one more question...” Carleen stared intently at me.
“What is it?” I wiped the corner of my mouth with my napkin. “Am I wearing my latte?”
She chuckled and shook her head, her striking feathery gray hair swaying. “No, but naturally, the whole town’s still abuzz about the murder at the Christmas bazaar. I just wondered whether you’ve cracked the case yet.”
I humphed. “Hardly. I’m trying to learn something that might nudge the police along, but believe me, that last murder case was a one-shot wonder.” Earlier in the year, Carleen’s sole employee, who was also a dear friend, had been killed in what we thought was a botched robbery attempt. The killer had turned out to be the woman’s sister, and while I’d helped solve the case, I didn’t plan to make a habit of it.
Carleen narrowed her eyes as if she didn’t quite believe me.
“When Harriet stopped by the store yesterday afternoon—”
“Wait a minute. Harriet stopped by your store yesterday? I remember you running into her at Mavis’s, but she actually went inside the Silver Squirrel?”
Since Harriet operated the Making Memories Antique Mall, even if she admired the high-quality silver and other pieces Carleen sold, she rarely spent money with Carleen—or any other local business owners.
“Don’t worry. She wasn’t trying to score a deal or anything. She was still mad about Holly being excluded from the show and asked me if I knew anyone who might carry Holly’s jewelry on consignment.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Why would she think you could help her with consignments?” What an odd thing to ask Carleen. Everyone knew that she sold only quality antiques.
Carleen looked around the café and lowered her voice. “Those were my thoughts exactly.” She folded her hands on the table. “I told her that since the jewelry wasn’t antique, I didn’t know of anyone appropriate for them to contact. I tried to be pleasant about it, although to be honest with you, Holly’s jewelry isn’t really my cup of tea. You know, lots of plastic beads and thick tassels made from what looked like ordinary yarn.”
I frowned. “The mainstream craft magazines do seem to have gone overboard with tassel jewelry.”
Carleen continued, “Harriet told me she gave an earful to the mayor when she saw him at the bazaar on her way out Saturday. She was all but demanding Miranda’s head on a silver platter. You know, the mayor’s family and Harriet’s are related, although I forget exactly how, and I’ll bet she bends his ear every chance she gets. Poor man.”
Carleen glanced at her vintage gold Cartier watch and said she needed to get back to her shop for an appointment with a customer, so I waved her off. I got a glass of ice water from Mavis then sat back down to jot a few ideas in my design notebook. While Carleen and I were talking, a woman in a gorgeous bright-orange coat had sashayed into the café. Orange had never been one of my favorite colors, but it was popular in the design world, and I wanted to order some orange beads from one of my suppliers. Orange jewelry sets might sell well for Christmas.
I looked at my watch—unlike Carleen’s elegant vintage model, mine was another whimsical rhinestone bracelet watch—and I still had a while before I needed to head home and get dinner on the table for Jen and Todd. That left plenty of time for a quick bead run.
Besides, I hadn’t popped into Making Memories Antique Mall in a couple of weeks and wanted to be sure I wasn’t missing out on some good junk. I was going there to shop, not to snoop. Harriet would likely know if there were any new bags of vintage jewelry I needed to check out. I’d let her know up front that I was in a hurry so that she wouldn’t bring up the Christmas bazaar and the murder. It always helped to have a plan.