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Right before closing time at five o’clock, I got a call from Caitlyn that made my day. She’d finished meeting with the police, and apparently, she’d jumped to conclusions and wasn’t on their suspect list after all. They’d quizzed her on some details about Miranda’s background, which she found odd, but she told them what she knew. As a result, she didn’t need me to stop by her office.
Hallelujah! I needed to run by the house and check on Miriam, anyway, since I’d accepted the dinner invite from Jen. When I got there, Miriam stood in the kitchen and meowed loudly next to her water bowl, which I’d forgotten to check before I left that morning. Like most Siamese cats, Miriam could be quite vocal about her needs.
“I guess you’re glad to see me.” I stroked her fur then refilled her bowl. After quenching her thirst, Miriam curled up at my feet while I thumbed through a new jewelry-supply catalog that had arrived in the day’s mail. For once, I focused on the more expensive beads, charms, and findings. With the Jewelry Artisans of the Southeast show on my horizon, I needed to think about more upscale designs.
I also needed to figure out how to catch up on my current jewelry orders for the week when I kept saying yes to everyone around me—and to dinner with friends.
But that bananas Foster cupcake I’d eaten around four o’clock was long gone, so after I changed into jeans and a comfy top, I drove to Jen’s house and was more than ready for dinner. As I stepped through the front door of their fixer-upper, the aroma of garlic and onions made my stomach growl. I’d been so busy at the shop all day that by suppertime, I was famished. I entered Jen’s farmhouse-style kitchen, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply. “Mm. The pizza smells divine.”
When I opened my eyes, Jen had an arm extended and touched one of my beaded oval earrings. “Cute! A new design?”
“Yep. Sold six sets just like these at the gallery today.”
Todd nodded. “Very nice. I know your gallery sells arts and crafts, so are you considered an artist or a craftsman?”
I humphed. “That’s a great question. The difference between a crafter and an artist is often in the eyes of the beholder, but I like to think I’m a jewelry artist. And”—I waited till both Jen and Todd were looking at me—“I want you two to be among the first to know that I’ve been accepted to the Jewelry Artisans of the Southeast’s spring show.”
Jen squealed. “What? Why haven’t you told me about this already?”
“Yeah, that’s awesome,” Todd said.
Jen and I looked at him.
“I mean, I guess it’s awesome. Right? What’s the Jewelry Artisans of the Southeast?”
I laughed. “You have to send them images of your work and fill out this detailed application online, and you’re competing with some of the best amateur jewelry designers in the whole Southeast. It doesn’t matter how much money you’ve earned or how many thousands of followers you have on Facebook or Instagram. It’s a really big deal, and I’m still stunned that I got in.”
Todd interrupted his pizza making long enough to slap a dishcloth across his shoulder and give me his full attention. “Sounds like those folks aren’t easily impressed. You’re entering the big leagues now, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know about the big leagues, but I mean it when I say it’s an honor to be chosen.”
“You won’t forget us little people after you’re rich and famous, will you?” Todd grinned.
“We’ll help keep her humble.” Jen handed me a knife. “Here, Jewelry Queen. How about chopping the lettuce and tomatoes for our salads?”
While I attacked a head of lettuce, Todd whipped up a quick herb-and-vinegar dressing. I loved to watch him work. With a flourish, he poured his oil into a wooden bowl before adding freshly chopped herbs. He had just plucked a stainless steel whisk from the utensil crock when Jen stopped him.
“Nope.” She handed him a plastic-coated whisk. “Use this one instead.”
Todd looked puzzled. “Okay. But why?”
“I don’t want to scratch the interior. Bob Mathis put a lot of heart into that bowl, you know.” Jen peered inside, then I did too.
Sure enough, the inlaid interior told me it was my friend’s work. I usually thought of Bob’s bowls strictly as art pieces, so I was surprised to see one functioning in its utilitarian purpose. “It’s safe to actually use these?” I fingered the smooth-as-silk rim of the wide bowl.
“Oh yeah. And Bob encourages it.”
“I didn’t know that. Yet he’s my friend.”
“He’s not just your friend.” Jen laughed. “Bob’s friends with half the town. He likes everyone.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“What does that mean?” Jen looked curious.
I shrugged. “Bob doesn’t like everyone. Miranda, for instance. He and ‘Miss Rochester,’ as he called her, didn’t exactly hit it off.”
Todd piped up, “She was quite a looker, though, wasn’t she?”
Jen and I gave him the stink eye.
“Sorry.” He draped the dishcloth over his face, and we laughed.
I drummed my fingers on the counter. “I still can’t understand why someone with her experience would have taken a relatively rinky-dink job like Happy Hometown director in Roseland.”
Jen frowned. “You’re not dissing Roseland, are you?”
“You know better. I adore this town, just like you guys, but I’m well aware some folks move here with the goal of turning us into something we’re not. Didn’t it strike you as odd that a New Yorker would arrive in town and constantly talk about how great Rochester was, showing up to meetings in her tailored suits and designer pumps?”
“Hey.” Todd clapped. “Enough about the late Ms. Hargrove. Pizza’s ready.”
I joined Jen on one side of their bench-style seating at a distressed wooden table that they’d had forever, and I leaned in so all three of us could hold hands while Todd said grace.
At the conclusion of the prayer, I squeezed both hands I’d been holding. “With all due respect, I’m starving, so amen and dig in.”
Todd and Jen must have been as hungry as I was, because we polished off that first pizza in record time. Todd’s pizza crust used an old family recipe he protected like the formula for Coca-Cola. Jen and I were only too happy for him to keep it a secret, though, because that meant he had to make the pizzas himself. Our job was simply to eat them.
The first pie had sausage, mushrooms, extra cheese, and a rich marinara sauce. The second one was a pizza margherita with the classic thin crust and loads of gooey mozzarella. I gave Todd my compliments for the millionth time.
After my third slice of pizza, I leaned back in my chair and groaned. “Wow, that sure hit the spot.”
“Sure you don’t want some more?” Todd asked.
“Or more salad?” Jen tipped the bowl in my direction.
I declined both offers, but I traced a finger along the top of the pretty bowl, which reminded me of my earlier conversation with Bob Mathis. I faced Jen. “I didn’t know you were friends with Bob. How did that happen?”
She swallowed a last bite of pizza crust. “He comes by the office to bring us press releases and photos about the arts council. He’s always stayed on top of the group’s PR, which is great for helping us fill up holes in the paper.” She frowned. “And did I tell you that the company has cut back on our budget for stringers? I guess that’s one reason I appreciate folks like Bob so much.”
That didn’t surprise me. Bob was a loyal member of the arts council and never missed a meeting. He was always first to sign up for assignments, and if he said he would do something, he did it. I supposed that being on the arts council had given him something to do after his wife died a few years ago. And that reminded me that I’d just met another member of his family.
“Did you know Bob’s daughter recently moved to Roseland? She stopped by the gallery this afternoon with a group from the school system.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever heard him talk about her, but then he never stays long when he drops by the office.” Jen stacked our plates in the dishwasher while Todd stood at the sink and hand-washed his huge pizza stone.
I set the salad bowl on the counter next to him. “Do you know Bob too?”
“Nope.” He looked up from the suds. “Never met him. But I do like his stuff.”
Jen reclaimed her seat at the table. “He’s always been nice to me when he comes by the paper, but you know how that is. Everybody’s nice when they want something out of you.”
“And nice is good.” Todd cocked his head. “Something our friend Gerald needs to learn.”
That got my attention. “Wait a minute. Last night, you said what a great guy he was. What’s changed?”
Todd rolled his eyes. “I spent an hour on the phone with Gerald this morning. Turns out that one reason he wants to do this family history is to embarrass some Adams cousins he doesn’t think are pulling their weight in the family business. I tried to discourage that, naturally. The dude has some anger issues, and I’m starting to wonder whether I should have agreed to help him.”
“Are you seriously rethinking the new project?” I asked.
Todd shrugged. “I hope his attitude doesn’t end up being a problem. I was at his house one day when we first talked about the website, and the mailman dropped off a package and didn’t ring the doorbell. The minute Gerald got an alert on his phone saying a package had been delivered, he ran to the door, threw it open, and yelled at the guy, saying he should have notified Gerald that he’d delivered something.”
I humphed. “Seems a little overbearing.”
Todd’s eyes widened. “A little? He definitely has a short fuse.”
And all Miranda had done to light it at the bazaar was simply request that the nicest animals be the ones brought indoors. I wondered why Gerald had come unglued over that. And whether he was angry enough to commit murder.
Shaking off the thoughts as the result of an overactive imagination and a long day, I thanked Todd and Jen for dinner and headed home. Once I got there, I changed into pajamas then went into the kitchen to make my nightly cup of chamomile tea. Miriam Haskell looked up at me with her beautiful deep-blue eyes. No wonder Siamese cats had once been the favorite felines of royalty. I reached down to give her a rub, and she rewarded me with a satisfied purr.
“Miriam, I wish I could talk to you about all the murder suspects in town.”
She replied with a spirited meow.
“Oh yeah? You think I’m a little nuts for suspecting half the town of murder?”
Miriam rubbed against my leg and swished her tail.
“You may be right, but...”
Miriam’s head jerked up at me as if she were truly considering my words.
“But somebody killed Miranda on Saturday, right? And I haven’t heard about an arrest being made, so clearly the murderer is still out there.”
Miriam apparently preferred a more upbeat bedtime story, because she wandered off to the living room, leaving me alone with my questions.
I was tired of thinking about the case. When I finally climbed into bed, all I knew was that if I didn’t fulfill the jewelry orders I had promised to make, the holidays weren’t going to be very happy ones at all.