I wrapped my hand around Briggs' arm as we walked out of Franki's Diner. The coastal fog had stayed away, and the dark blue sky was littered with tiny diamonds. A half moon tilted whimsically over the ocean.
"Look at that moon. Isn't it romantic?" I said. "Let's take a walk to the marina."
Briggs glanced up at the sky. Moonlight always looked extra good on him. "I do believe, Miss Pinkerton, that you find every phase of the moon romantic."
I smiled and squeezed his arm tighter. "When I'm with you, Detective Briggs, even the streetlamps are romantic."
We'd just stepped off the curb leaving Franki's parking lot when a woman rushed past us in such a hurry, it took me a few seconds to recognize that it was Heather Houston, the photographer. She had her camera around her neck and was carrying the camera bag as she scurried over the asphalt toward the diner.
"Hello, Miss Houston," I said cheerily.
She startled at the sound of her name. Her face shot my direction. She seemed to be trying to place me but couldn't. "Hello," she said quickly and continued her march toward the diner.
"Not a very friendly person," Briggs noted.
"She definitely seemed distracted." I glanced back. Heather was just entering the diner.
"Who is she?" Briggs asked as we steered our stroll toward the wharf and marina.
"Her name is Heather Houston." I snuggled closer to him for warmth as the coastal chill began to creep toward us. "She is taking photographs for a book about lighthouses. Our town's fair maiden, Pickford Lighthouse, is going to be featured in the book. I met Heather while she was taking pictures of Marty. Oh, that's right, I haven't talked to you since my wonderful evening with Marty."
"That's right. How did that go? Did he have anything interesting to add to your case?" There was a touch of teasing in his tone.
I stopped. "James Briggs, you act as if I'm some silly woman who is delusional in thinking she can solve a murder. I've solved quite a few of them."
He took hold of my hand and pulled me closer for a kiss. "You are so adorable when you are mad." He gazed down at me with those dark brown eyes. The soothing scent that was a mix of his soap and aftershave surrounded me. Any touch of anger vanished.
"And, you don't play fair with that magnetic brown gaze," I complained. "How can a girl stay mad? Although, I'm still sore about your derisive tone when mentioning my case. I'm going to solve it. Just wait and see."
He hugged me. "I have no doubt about it. I'm sorry about teasing you. You're the best assistant a detective could have."
"Partner," I muttered as I peeled myself out of his arms and took hold of his hand to continue our walk.
"Assistant," he muttered in response.
"If you say so," I said, teasingly. "Anyhow, back to marvelous Marty." I laughed at the alliteration. "That's a perfect name for him. He's such a great guy. He told me so many stories that I didn't leave his house until close to eleven."
"Should I be jealous?" he asked.
"Yes, you should. Especially because Marty found an old photograph of his mother standing with her friend Jane Price."
It had been a few months since I'd brought up the Hawksworth investigation so it took Briggs a few seconds to remember the name Jane Price. "Oh, that was Harvard Price's daughter from his first marriage. Do you think she's tied up in all this?"
"Not sure but I think I might be closer to linking her to Bertram Hawksworth."
The wharf was mostly deserted. The shops and kiosks were closed for the night. Without the usual lively conversations, intermittent shrieks of the gulls and rumble of boat motors, our footsteps reverberated on the weathered dock much louder than they would have during a busy day. Aside from the rhythmic thumps and clangs of boats in their slips, the only other sound was a woman's laugh. It rolled out from the boat slips and bounced along planks.
My hand was still wound tightly around Briggs' arm as we trod lightly along the uneven wood planks that made up the long stretch of dock between the moored vessels.
"What did Marty have that is helping you link Jane Price to the Hawksworth murder?" Briggs asked.
"Not sure if I should tell you because you might think I'm just grasping at straws, or, in this case, lavender."
He looked over at me. "Did you just say lavender?"
"Yes. Remember when I told you about the love letters to Teddy from Button? Well, they were in Bertram's trunk with his personal belongings, so it's fairly easy to deduce that he was Teddy. But my intuition tells me that his wife, Jill, was not Button. I think I might have mentioned that there was a piece of dried lavender still stuck inside one of the letters."
"You might have mentioned it," he agreed.
"Well, it just so happens that Jane Price was holding a bouquet of lavender in the picture Marty showed me. He said she used to grow it in a field behind the mayor's office. She made soap out of it."
Briggs tilted his head side to side. "Could mean something or could just be a coincidence."
I was just about to give my view on his comment when a figure climbed out of the boat in the second to last slip of the marina. It was the luxury boat called Funtasy where I'd seen the glamorous woman sipping her pink cocktail.
I stopped short, inadvertently pulling Briggs to a stop too. The tall figure leaned down to kiss the aforementioned glamorous woman (only without the pink cocktail) goodbye, then spun on his expensive loafers our direction. The overhead lights on the dock illuminated his face, but I already knew the man leaving the boat was none other than Lionel.
"Boy, that man is busy as a beaver," I muttered under my breath and pulled a confused Briggs along.
Lionel nodded at us. "Evening."
"Evening," Briggs said in return.
I hurried him along, out of ear shot of the boat.
"Why do I get the feeling I'm about to be tied up and thrown onto a pirate boat?" Briggs asked. "Is there a reason you are dragging me toward the end of the marina?"
I turned back to make sure we were far enough away from Funtasy and Lionel's other girlfriend.
Briggs was smiling with amusement. "I like it when you get all clandestine, like an adorable secret spy. What is going on?"
"That man we just passed—the one who kissed the woman on that boat goodbye—"
"Yes, I saw all that."
"That is Kate's new, rich boyfriend, the guy who bought the Palmer house." He stared back at me, not quite sure what was stunning enough to cause me to pull him to a quiet place, away from the boats. (Typical man.) His brows rose with sudden comprehension.
"Ah, I see, he was kissing that woman on the boat, and that was definitely not Kate Yardley so he's a two timer."
I held up three fingers. "He's a three timer. Yesterday, he was inside Lola's shop buying an expensive necklace for a widow who lives near him in Chesterton."
"Huh, I don't know whether to be disgusted or impressed," he said off-handedly.
I stared up at him. He caught my scowl.
"Disgusted," he said emphatically. "Definitely disgusted."
"Good answer. Now I'll even invite you to my house for a movie." I took his arm again, and we started the journey back.