Ryder had headed out to test drive a car he was hoping to buy. Earlier in the afternoon, a frazzled mother had walked in with two school aged kids. She needed centerpieces for a club meeting she was hosting. The kids, who were bouncing around, happy to no longer be sitting in their school desks, were making it hard for her to concentrate on her task. Then a tap on the front door signaled the return of a certain shop mascot. Kingston had taken off when Ryder left, but he returned quickly, apparently not finding any activity to his liking outside the shop. His timing was perfect. The kids spent the rest of the time dropping treats into his tray and watching him eat them. It was rare but my bird actually reached a saturation point on the treats. But he had kept the kids entertained enough for their harried mom to choose orange and yellow carnations for her centerpieces. The group left and Kingston settled down for a long nap, leaving me alone to think about the murder cases. Normally, by now, I would have at least a semi-solid list of suspects, but there was only Kate and Margaret. I was having a hard time trying to picture either of them as a cold blooded murderer. Kate had opened up her shop this morning and was back in business, complete with a new sidewalk sale sign and a display of cool mod frocks to go with it. It seemed her interview at the station must have eased her mind about being a possible suspect. I'd contemplated walking down the street to chat with her for all of a minute. There had never been a great bond between us, and I was sure she'd consider me to be prying. Which, technically, would be right. It was one thing to sort of push my way into talking to a suspect when I didn't know the person well, but it was another thing when that person was a neighboring shopkeeper who I had to see almost every day.
I headed into the office to order the carnations. I sat at the computer. Rather than open my purchase order file, I went straight to Google. I was interested to find out whether Heather Houston had signed a deal with Ballard or Shuster. Not that it mattered much, but it did seem strange that she'd told Marty and me different publisher names.
I typed in Heather Houston, certain that whichever publisher it was, there would have been a press release or some sort of news article about the forthcoming book. There was a lawyer named Heather Houston, and a singer in an indie pop band went by the same name. I decided to take a shortcut and go straight to Ballard Publishing. They had a list of books due out in the next year. I read through the list but saw nothing about a lighthouse photo book and, more importantly, nothing from Heather Houston.
I moved on to the Shuster Publishing site. Their site was a little harder to navigate, but a few clicks and some serious scrolling earned me no reward. There was no mention of an upcoming book from photographer Heather Houston. I tried a few more keywords like lighthouse, coffee table book, coastal scenery but nothing took me to a mention of Heather's upcoming book. I had never asked her when the book was due out. It was possible that the estimated publishing date was two years away. After all, a book of photographs would take a great deal of preparation and work to produce. On top of that, Heather still seemed to be moving up the coast for more pictures. I had to give her the benefit of the doubt that her book was still in the early stages of creation, and there was no mention online because it was too far in the future.
The only question I couldn't reason away was why she would tell me it was a Shuster publication when she told Marty it was Ballard. Something wasn't quite right with any of her story. Since she was quite possibly long gone from Port Danby, I would probably never find out just what the heck was going on.
I was just about to stop my procrastination and start my purchase order when the bell rang on the front door. The clanging was followed by the distinct aroma of cinnamon, which meant that Elsie had arrived with a baked good. The carnations could wait.