| |
What a day! Vandalism cleanup, a dustup with a detective, then a nice lunch with a friend. I entered the house through the back door, put my purse on the counter, and was welcomed by a sea of red fuzz sprawled across my kitchen floor. What on earth?
“Hey, you!”
Miriam’s head jerked up from the kitchen doorway.
“What have you gotten into now?” The roll of red raffia I’d been using to make bows for my Christmas jewelry packages was shredded to pieces—no doubt by little kitty claws—and half the contents of the spool were curled around a chair and past a table leg then, helpfully, right up to the kitchen garbage can.
“Miriam Haskell!”
She looked at me as if to say, “Huh? What’d I do, Mom?”
So much for knocking out more jewelry. Cleanup would have to come first.
After I searched in vain for the ribbon’s end, hoping to salvage some of it, I reached into the junk drawer for my all-purpose scissors and sliced the nearest spot of raffia. I had just started winding a length of it around my fingers when the doorbell rang. As I headed to the door, I wound faster, and the knocking grew louder.
“I’m coming!” Jen, maybe? But Jen rarely had time for a visit on Fridays, since she was busy editing stories for the weekend newspapers.
When I peered through the window, Detective Alan Shelton was standing there.
I opened the door and glared. “Yes?”
His eyes followed the streamers of shredded raffia in my hands, and he must have wondered what I was doing. “Oh, this.” I nodded at the ribbon. “My cat got into some of my craft supplies while I was away.”
“I just need to ask you a few quick questions.”
“About?”
“Can I come in for a few minutes?”
I huffed and motioned to the living room. “Wait in there. I need to throw this ribbon away.”
In the kitchen, I untwirled enough ribbon to easily shake it off, then I washed my hands and scooted to the living room.
“Now, what is this about?”
“It’s about the Christmas bazaar photos you had the teenage girl send to our office the other night following Miranda’s murder.”
“Do forgive me if I’m misremembering something, but I believe that this very morning, I was asked—no, make that ordered—not to have anything further to do with this investigation. Did I dream that conversation?”
The detective frowned. “No, but this time, I’m coming to you, so it’s different.”
“Is that so?” But curiosity got the better of me. “Anyway, what was your question about the photos?”
“How well did you look at those before she sent them our way?”
“I barely glanced at them. Once I saw Miranda’s arm dangling out of Santa’s bag, I knew you’d want to see them yourself and not have... the public trying to solve the case themselves.”
“So you didn’t make or keep copies?”
I felt my face heating. “What do you mean, ‘make copies’?”
“Did you have her forward them to you then have her send them to Evelyn? Did you get prints made or keep the copies on your phone?”
Barely concealing my aggravation, I replied, “No, Detective, I didn’t make copies. No print copies, no cell phone copies. No copies period.”
I could’ve sworn I heard a forlorn sigh, then he said, “Good. That’s what I was hoping to hear.”
“Is there some reason you’re asking me this here, at my house, on a Friday afternoon when I’ve got a million things to do?” I had a hand on my hip.
“A person of interest was in one of the photos and—”
“Oh yeah?” Now, that’s news! “Who was it?” He was implying that somebody who’d been at the bazaar was on the police department’s radar.
“You know I can’t disclose details of an active investigation.”
I tried another tactic. “So, exactly what difference would it have made if I had kept copies of those cell phone photos? You thought that if I knew who was in those photos, I might be in danger, didn’t you?”
He ignored my question. “The girl’s mother, I believe, serves on the arts council with you. Do you happen to know whether Mrs. Delgado looked at those photos?”
I had to think about that. “I honestly couldn’t say. She knows about my getting her daughter to send them to you, and we talked about the photos at our meeting the other night, but I don’t think she specifically mentioned seeing them herself.”
“Who all was at that meeting?”
“Besides Trish and me? Savannah Rogers, Gus Townsend, Bob Mathis, Martha Barnes, and Shareta Davis.”
“No one else?”
“Nope. Oh, wait. A potential new board member, Tyler Montgomery, came by at the end. But he was really there just because he’s seeing Gus. So do you think the killer’s after us?”
“Fortunately for you and everyone else, the killer can’t possibly know who all snapped cell phone photos that night. I’m hoping the person has no reason to suspect you of having an interest in the case. At least, no more so than any other curious person here in Roseland.”
“Curious.” I smiled. “Sounds slightly better than nosy.”
The detective gestured to a renegade raffia streamer that Miriam had just trailed into the living room. “I guess that’s my signal to go and let you finish cleaning up your craft supplies.”
“So that’s all you had to ask?”
He nodded. “That was it. Enjoy your afternoon.”
The detective was gone in an instant, and I found it odd that he’d come to my house to question me. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn he was genuinely interested in my safety.
* * *
JUSTIN HAYES AND I had been seeing each other for months. While we’d gotten past the butterflies-in-the-stomach stage of dating, my heart still flip-flopped whenever he looked my way. That night, he had picked me up in the pouring-down rain for dinner at The Loft. He had arrived promptly and escorted me to his car as he held a huge golf umbrella over our heads.
Within minutes, we were out of the car, out of the rain, and soaking in the cozy atmosphere of The Loft.
As our server seated us, I glanced around.
“Hey,” I whispered, causing Justin to look up from studying his menu. “Have you noticed how sparse the crowd is tonight? I wonder if the rain is keeping everyone away.”
Justin grinned. “I know you’re a fan of The Loft, but you do know it’s not a crime if they have a slow night, right?”
I smiled back. “I suppose you’re right.”
He continued to study his menu, and I gave full attention to mine. Then I sensed a presence near our table.
“You guys having an early dinner too?” A female voice caught my attention.
Savannah and her husband, Paul, had a black to-go bag from The Loft, presumably transporting leftovers of whatever delicious meal they’d just consumed.
“I shouldn’t have eaten such a big meal at lunchtime then come here for dinner.” Savannah patted her stomach. “You probably feel the same way.”
“Speak for yourself.” I laughed. “Nah, I’ll probably end up with a to-go bag, too, but I can never resist an invitation to dine here.”
“We were just checking out the menus.” Justin gave a nod to his. “Got a recommendation?”
Paul tapped the bag. “I highly recommend the New York strip, if you’re thinking of having the special.”
“Good to know. And thanks for the advice.”
Savannah and Paul said their goodbyes, and before they reached the front door, our server returned, and both Justin and I had decided to have the steak special.
“So.” Justin handed the server our menus then turned to me. “If I know you, you’ve been thinking about the Miranda Hargrove investigation some more. Correct?”
“Who, me?” I feigned my most innocent look, and he chuckled.
“Just as I thought. What does Roseland’s Nancy Drew think is going on? Who killed Miranda, how did they do it, and how did they get away with it?”
“It was Colonel Mustard, in the conservatory, with a...” I slumped in my seat and confessed, “I have no idea. And it’s been further complicated since you and I spoke last night.”
“Oh?”
I filled him in on what had happened since I last saw him, including the attack on Gerald at the Happy Hometown office then my unappreciated visit with the detective, including his follow-up visit in the afternoon.
Our server brought our bread and salads and slipped away.
Justin tore off a piece of bread. “Okay, so let’s hear who your suspects are now.”
“I’m thinking we need to look closely at the list of people who didn’t get their usual spot at this year’s show, like Bob Mathis—not that I actually believe Bob’s a murderer. But if the artist was someone who relied on this show for a chunk of their annual income and they didn’t do as well as usual, that would certainly give that person a motive for wanting to get back at Miranda. Plus, they might have found it embarrassing to get knocked out of their old spot.”
“Someone like Savannah?”
“Yes. Well, no. I mean someone like Savannah but not Savannah, obviously. She wouldn’t hurt a flea. So someone who was chosen for the show but who didn’t get the booth that they did in years past.”
Justin stared into space as if pondering that idea. “How would you find out who was in the show in the past but didn’t get their previous spot? That would be hard to figure out, wouldn’t it?”
He’d just given me an idea. “Caitlyn would definitely know, or she’d at least have access to the records of who set up where last year. On Saturday, Miranda had Caitlyn go around to all the booths to make sure everyone was in the location Happy Hometown had assigned them. So she would have had a list of who had what spot last year and what they were assigned this year.”
“Then I sincerely hope someone talks to Caitlyn soon. If she has that information, and if the killer knows she does, then that could be what made her a target last night.”
I wondered if Caitlyn had considered that. She was only a year or two out of college, and since she was fairly new to the job, she might not be aware that she had anything to worry about. I didn’t want to frighten her, but Justin’s comment was sobering, and I planned to call her as soon as I got home.
Soon, our server arrived with our steaming steaks. Mine was medium rare, just like I liked it, and Justin said his—ordered well-done—was cooked perfectly as well. We ate in silence for a while, and I was pleased to see the restaurant traffic had increased significantly.
“Now that our appetites have been satisfied”—Justin had a mischievous look in his eyes—“tell me how the jewelry biz is going. The last time I mentioned your work, you promised to fill me in on some design news.”
I held out my arm. “It was this.” I had on a new leather cuff bracelet that had a large center oval of hand-forged silver. “I made it in a workshop last month. What do you think?”
Justin reached out and gently touched the bracelet, brushing my skin. Inwardly, I sighed, though on the outside, I aimed for calm, cool, and collected. He gave a low whistle. “Stunning.”
He wiggled his eyebrows, and I could feel myself blushing. Is he talking about the bracelet or me?
“Thanks. I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out.”
Justin dipped his head. “You should be. That definitely looks like a high-quality piece. So are you going to make more?”
I shook my head. “Right now, I can’t. I’m up to my elbows in Christmas designs. But taking a new course fills the well, if you know what I mean, and any technique I learn seems to inspire some future project, so it’s a good career investment. Does that happen when you take classes?”
“Absolutely, and when—”
“Well, hi, you two.” Gus Townsend had stopped at our table. I always loved to see what outfit Gus dreamed up next, and she was wearing a denim jacket with a crazy-quilt-style bodice, a slim-fitting denim skirt, and granny boots with velvet-trimmed socks.
“You here with someone?” I glanced around but didn’t see her new companion.
“No, alas.” She grimaced. “Tyler said he had to work on a commission tonight. But Savannah and I are planning a big fiftieth-anniversary party for our parents next year, and I came by to drop off some menu ideas so that I can get a catering quote.”
“This would be a great place for that.” Justin nodded. “Have you heard about that new rooftop patio they’re working on? I hear the plans for it are spectacular.”
Gus bounced on her feet. “That’s where we’re hoping to have it. We’d like something more upscale than chicken dinners for seventy-five at the country club, if you know what I mean. We’re hoping for something more intimate here, and Savannah put me in charge of the food.”
“Fun job.” I had known her parents for years, so I hoped to be invited when the big event rolled around.
“It’ll be fun when the sampling time arrives.” Gus chuckled then stole a glance at her watch. “Speaking of the parents, I’m headed there for dinner, so I’d better run.” She looked at Justin then me. “Enjoy the rest of your dinner, you two.”
Justin’s eyes followed her out of the room, then he lowered his voice. “Have you heard that some of her pieces are going to Washington for a congressional art exhibit?”
“Seriously? No. How did you hear about it?”
“One of the regional art magazines had an article on her. I was impressed with how far she’s come with her art. And it mentioned she’s become quite active in the local Humane Society, even donating some of her pieces to help them raise money for the no-kill shelter.”
“Gus never mentions any of this at our arts council meetings.” Nearly stuffed, I folded my napkin and set it to the side of my plate. “I can’t believe I’m in an arts group with someone who hasn’t been shouting this news from the rooftop. And I’m wondering why on earth not.”
“It’s the same dilemma we all have.” Justin’s baby blues were aimed right at me. “How do we acknowledge our success without sounding like we’re bragging?”
I understood his concern. I’d already gotten several awards for my work, but I didn’t want to contact Jen and the newspaper every time I was honored. She was already stressed out since subscriptions continued to decline. If she felt compelled to use the precious space in the newspaper to promote her best friend’s achievements... well, I didn’t want to be the source of more stress.
Then a thought came to me, and I narrowed my eyes at Justin. “You’re not holding back on me, are you? Have you won some big award that I’m going to read about in the newspaper or a magazine?”
His eyes sparkled. “I wish, but no, no big awards lately.”
The server delivered our check, and Justin accepted the black leather folder and took care of our bill.
“Nothing major”—he slid the receipt into his wallet—“but I have been chosen for another juried show, one down in Seaside the week before Christmas. And this one has some of the best artists in the whole South lined up, so I’m really psyched about it.”
I would be visiting my parents in Pensacola that week, and Seaside wasn’t that far away. I wondered whether it was too soon to suggest that Justin meet us all for dinner one night and—
“Emma?”
“Sorry. My mind wandered there for a minute. What?”
He smiled but had a puzzled look on his face. “I was just saying how I think we ought to have a juried show in Roseland sometime. Would the arts council go for it?”
“Hmm.” I would have to think about that. “The topic’s come up several times before. We used to have a juried show years ago, but interest petered out, and people moved on to the next big thing. The same three or four volunteers kept it going, and you know how well that works out. But I’m still thinking this artists-society thing of yours may be the way to go.”
The waitress asked if we needed refills, and Justin assured her that we were about to leave. He had treated me to lunch and dinner so many times lately that I was probably overdue for having him over for another home-cooked meal rather than just takeout. The last meal I’d cooked for him had been weeks ago. And I would definitely cook for him again. Just as soon as I got caught up on making Christmas jewelry—and figured out who had committed a murder and some vandalism.
Before we walked out into the rain, Justin reached for the umbrella, which he’d tucked into a stand inside the restaurant’s front door. “You still want to run by your friend’s open house for a few minutes?”
I nodded. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
He smiled. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.”
Under the protective cover of Justin’s umbrella, we made it to his car, drenching the interior as we clambered into our seats. We’d been circling the square while looking for a space near Michele’s shop and were stopped at a red light when a tall man at the front of Sombrero caught my eye.
“Justin, that’s Tyler!” I pointed at the covered awning where the dark-haired man dressed in a paint-splattered vest was standing.
“Didn’t Gus just say he was working tonight?”
“Yeah, so he must be picking up some takeout.” We continued to watch Tyler, who appeared to be looking for someone. A few seconds later, Caitlyn walked up, and he gave her a peck on the lips.
Justin looked at me. “Uh-oh.”
My heart sank.
Gus might have thought Tyler was serious about dating her, but it sure didn’t look that way.