Chapter 13

 

I contacted Cinnamon and quickly recapped what we had discovered: a stamp, albeit not the most expensive, was missing. She arrived at Jake’s house within minutes, dressed in a long-sleeved blue dress and heels and looking ticked to have been called out on a Friday night. Her sense of duty to my father, and thereby his extended family, must have compelled her to see to this matter personally.

“Did I interrupt a date?” I asked.

“Yes, and Bucky is not happy about finishing dinner alone at the Pelican Brief Diner.” She addressed Jake, who was standing at the foot of the stairs with Rhett and Lacy, and asked him to confirm what I had told her.

He did.

“The stamp is really unique!” Lacy blurted.

Gently, Rhett invited Lacy to go with him to the kitchen so he could make her a hot chocolate.

“You’re coddling me,” she muttered.

He winked. “You could call it that.”

Grudgingly, she accepted the invitation, but I could tell she wanted to stick around and hear whatever Jake discussed with the chief of police. Rhett assured her I’d fill her in later.

Jake led Cinnamon upstairs to the guest room. I followed. He recounted the sequence of events on the night of the murder: meeting Raquel at her Forget Me Not booth; Raquel’s interest in the Blue Mauritius stamp; Geoffrey mirroring Jake’s move with his envelope.

“Lacy was the one to notice they both put the envelopes in their coat pockets,” I said.

“Jake”—Cinnamon turned to face him—“I don’t think Raquel would kill someone to get her hands on an ordinary stamp.”

“It wasn’t ordinary,” I said. “It’s valued at three thousand dollars.”

“That’s chump change to Raquel,” Cinnamon countered. “Her shop does extremely well. Investors come from all over to purchase collectibles. Right, Jake?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I’ve seen you visit the shop. Seen you chatting with her father on multiple occasions, may he rest in peace.”

“You have?” His eyes widened.

“It’s my job to check in on the locals. You and Raquel are friendly.”

“We’re business acquaintances.”

Cinnamon’s eyes narrowed. “Do you believe she’s strong enough to have strangled Geoffrey Gunther?”

“How would I know?”

Changing tack, I said, “Have you found Jake’s sister yet, Chief?”

“Not yet. We’re looking.”

“What if she killed Geoffrey and stole the stamp? Three thousand dollars could mean a lot to her.”

Cinnamon shifted feet. “Now you’re asking me to assume that a woman in her seventies—a homeless woman in her seventies—killed Mr. Gunther?”

“Homeless people aren’t weaklings,” I said.

“How would she have known about the stamp?”

“She was at the festival that night. Gran—Gracie Goldsmith—introduced us. I didn’t realize at the time who she was. She could have shadowed Jake and seen him asking Raquel about the stamp.”

Cinnamon raised an eyebrow. “You’re tilting at windmills, Jenna.”

“I don’t believe I am.”

“Fine.” She worked her tongue inside her mouth. “I’ll question Raquel, and with some luck, Jake, I’ll track down your sister.” She acknowledged me with a nod. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” I said. “We’re merely trying to assist the police in any way we can, right, Jake?”

“Yes, Chief, any way we can.”

After Cinnamon left and after making sure that Jake felt safe in his house alone, Rhett, Lacy, and I went home. Rhett didn’t stay the night. That would have been inappropriate with Lacy sleeping over. He kissed me sweetly on the porch, told me to double-check all my locks, and said he’d call me first thing in the morning.

I slept fitfully listening to Lacy toss and turn. She talked in her sleep about Jake and the stamp and the toys in the attic and the boxes in the basement. At one point, she mumbled a string of no’s. I could only imagine what she was dreaming. At two, I heaved off the couch and tiptoed into the bedroom to make sure she was covered with the comforter.

Tigger, who was nestled at her feet, mewled at me. I tickled his chin and whispered, “She’ll be okay, pal. She’s simply seen too much in recent days for someone her age.”

He meowed again and gazed at me mournfully.

I sighed. “Yeah, I’ve seen too much, too.”

 

• • •

 

The next morning, on the way to drop off Lacy at my father’s house, I telephoned Whitney to update her on last night’s events. When we arrived, she was on the doorstep waiting for her daughter with open arms. As she clutched Lacy to her chest and stroked her spiky hair, Lacy gave me the evil eye. I bit back a smile. She could accept being babied by Rhett, but clearly she hated her mother fussing over her.

“I’m okay, Mom.” Lacy pressed apart. “The one who’s suffering is Jake.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’ve got to go to rehearsal. Can you drive me?”

“You bet. Are you nervous about tonight?”

“I’m nervous that Veronica will do something weird.”

“Why would she?”

“Because she’s Veronica.” She waved at Tigger, who was standing on his hind legs in the driver’s seat, front paws on the door’s rim. “Bye, fella. Aunt Jenna, if you learn anything, text me.”

By the time I arrived at the Cookbook Nook, Tina, who looked festive in a fire engine red sweater over a flirty skirt, her cheeks spritzed with glitter, had received and signed for a new shipment of books. Most of them had nothing to do with food. Once the Christmas festival concluded, we would gear up for the annual antique car festival. Hundreds of cars would arrive in town to participate in events, including a parade that would originate at the Pier. Owners would adorn their cars with wreaths, streamers, and other fun decorations. Locals and in-the-know tourists would gather with flags to cheer them on along the boulevard. I’d purchased quite a few antique car books, including The Art of the Automobile: The 100 Greatest Cars, which one reviewer touted as the perfect Father’s Day gift. I figured if it were ideal for that, it would be an even better Christmas present.

“Jenna, get a load of this one,” Tina said, offering me a copy of Classic Car: The Definitive Visual History.

I flipped through it and nearly swooned. Any car lover would adore the professional photographs. “This is terrific. Would you set a few of these on the display table by the salt and pepper shakers?” I handed the book back to her. “We’ll move them to the front table after the festival concludes.”

“On it.” Tina swooped up a handful and zigzagged through the aisles to her destination. She seemed perkier today, as if whatever had tired her yesterday was a thing of the past. Perhaps she didn’t have a culinary class on Friday nights and had gotten a decent amount of sleep. Unlike me. I yawned and covered my mouth with the back of my hand.

Bailey strolled into the shop with her beloved husband in tow. When I’d first met Tito Martinez, I hadn’t liked him. He’d acted like a gruff bulldog. Reporters could be like that. Truth be told, he resembled a bulldog—broad face, broad shoulders, short legs. Over the past year, I’d grown quite fond of him. After he wooed Bailey and won her heart, I realized he was dogged in all the right ways. It thrilled me to know she was happy.

On the other hand, she didn’t appear very joyful this morning. Her eyes were pinpoints of angst and her makeup was a tad off. Tito didn’t look so good, either.

“Morning,” I said.

“Hi,” Bailey replied, her tone lackluster. She pulled alongside the vintage kitchen table. “Where’s your aunt?”

“Right here,” Aunt Vera chimed as she pushed through the storage room drapes, a box of tissues in hand. She set the tissues on the sales counter and crossed to Bailey, the folds of her crimson caftan rustling. “Is everything all right, dear?” She began to caress the amulet around her neck.

A frisson of worry skated up my spine.

Tito said, “Bailey has been feeling sad lately and doesn’t know what’s up. She wants to make sure everything is okay with her mother.”

I drew closer. “Your mom is fine. I spoke with her and Dad earlier.” After dropping off Lacy, I’d called my father. “Your mom sounds like she’s in seventh heaven. The weather has been sublime. She’s enjoying all of their excursions. Text her. I’m sure she’ll set your mind at ease.”

“She fibs when she doesn’t want me to worry,” Bailey said and turned to my aunt. “Vera, could you please do a reading for us?”

“Us?” Tito raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, me. Tito’s a nonbeliever.”

“A skeptic.” He kissed her cheek and hooked his thumb in the direction of the café. “I’m going to get a coffee. Want one?”

She shook her head and perched on a chair at the table.

I leaned down and whispered, “You’re pregnant. Admit it.”

“I am not. We did the test.”

“Tests can be wrong.”

“I’m not PG. Stop it.” She flicked my arm with a finger. “Go to work. Let me have your aunt’s undivided attention.”

“When you’re done, will you please tinker with the shop’s website? Spruce it up. Give it a little more holiday flair.” Whereas my artistic eye was best utilized when I was painting or decorating a display window, Bailey had a keen eye for digital design. “Can you add a welcoming jingle, too?”

“Sure.” She shooed me away.

“Jenna, dear”—Aunt Vera settled at the table and withdrew a pack of tarot cards from her pocket—“I almost forgot. When you’re available, Katie would like you to taste test some items. There’s a big party coming in this evening after the festival.”

“Will do.” I wasn’t much of a cook, but I had a finely tuned palate. During my time at Taylor & Squibb and during my brief marriage to David, I’d done my fair share of dining at gourmet restaurants.

In less than a quarter hour, I queued up a series of orchestral Christmas music, neatened the shop, checked on Tigger’s water supply in the storage room, and tweaked the window display—a few wreaths had toppled. Throughout my chores, I repeatedly took note of Bailey and Aunt Vera. The first two cards my aunt had turned over hadn’t seemed to cause any alarm. Bailey was nodding. A smile graced her lips. When my aunt turned over the third card and stiffened, concern shot through me. I hurried over.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Aunt Vera said.

“Don’t kid a kidder.” I pointed at the Two of Pentacles, in which a young man was dancing as he juggled his worldly concerns. The infinity sign looping around the two star-filled circles, or pentacles, suggested that he could handle unlimited problems. “I’m not a fortune-teller, but that’s not a gasp-worthy card.”

“No, it’s not,” she said.

“But you gasped.”

Bailey clucked her tongue. “Out with it, Vera. I know I don’t have a clue what goes on with these readings, but because you gathered up the first two cards and didn’t leave them on display with the third, I’m getting goose bumps.”

“Sweet girl, all this card reveals is that you might have to adapt to change.”

“Ooh!” I wiggled my fingers in my friend’s face. “Does that mean there’s a baby in your future?”

“Cut it out,” Bailey sniped. “Vera, that card does not mean I’m pregnant.”

“Not exactly, no.”

Bailey shot me a gotcha look.

“However, you must stay centered while you stay flexible,” Aunt Vera said. “You must be open to change and go with the flow as best you can.”

Bailey turned ashen. “‘Go with the flow’?” She stabbed the tarot card. “See the ships behind the guy? Are you sure this card doesn’t have to do with my mother?”

“Those ships in the background show that the young man can easily cruise life’s ups and downs.” Aunt Vera swooped up the card and returned it to the deck. “This has nothing to do with your mother. The reading is all about you. You are the one who must be flexible.”

I hummed “Rock-a-bye Baby.”

Bailey snarled and leaped to her feet. “I need a cup of hot chocolate before I tackle the website.”

“And I need to taste test,” I said. “Tina, I’m going with Bailey to the café. I’ll be back before we open.”

She gave me the thumbs-up signal.

Before leaving, I bent down and whispered to my aunt, “Am I right? Is she pregnant?”

“We’ll see.”

Tito passed Bailey and me on our way to the café. “Everything okay?”

“Hunky dory,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. “Have fun hunting down a new story.”

When Bailey and I slipped into the kitchen, Katie was arranging canapés on a platter. Reynaldo, the assistant she’d hired a few months ago, and the rest of the staff were busily preparing baked goods. The café wouldn’t open for another thirty minutes.

“Oh, good, you’re here.” Katie squeezed my arm in thanks. “Follow me. I’ve set out a number of appetizers and desserts on the captain’s table.” She motioned toward the table for eight that was nestled into a nook at the rear of the kitchen. Occasionally she served special dinners there. “Sit. Taste. I need three appetizers and three desserts. I’ve settled on the main courses.” She ticked off her fingers. “Pecan crusted gulf fish, seared wild shrimp, and filet mignon with roasted root vegetables over smashed garlic potatoes.”

“Yum.” My mouth watered. Some days—most days—a power bar wasn’t enough for breakfast.

“But the appetizers have me stymied,” she went on. “I’d like to do something with a holiday flair.” Katie pointed to the appetizers she’d set on the table. “I have shrimp and tasso over grits with beurre blanc. Then there’s Crystal Cove succotash.”

“What’s that?” Bailey asked.

“Chicken and lima beans with chopped tomatoes and—”

“That’s green and red,” I cut in.

“True. I’m worried, though. Is it moist enough? Be honest.” Katie continued pointing. “I also have a baby spinach salad with pecans and crumbled blue cheese or a strawberry salad with petite greens and goat cheese.”

“The second salad is green and red, too,” Bailey chirped.

“You’re right.” Katie tapped her temple. “I hadn’t realized that.”

I slid onto the bench at the table and said, “I’m digging in.” I tasted the spinach salad first. The dressing was heavenly. “Is this your famous sugarcane vinaigrette?”

Katie beamed. “Good guess, and freshly made Creole mustard.”

I hummed my approval and pulled a small plate of the shrimp and tasso toward me. Tasso was a spicy meat. Pairing it with the shrimp was a perfect balance—not too salty with lots of texture. “I love this,” I said, pointing with my fork.

“What’s for dessert?” Bailey asked.

Katie fetched three dessert plates from the walk-in refrigerator. She set them in front of Bailey. “Eggnog ice cream with white chocolate crackle. The crackle is made with saltine crackers.” She patted her belly. “Very satisfying.”

The gesture made me think of how Bailey had been caressing her abdomen lately. I bit back a grin and took one of the desserts. After savoring a bite of the crackle, which was yummy, I said, “Who’s throwing the party?”

“Raquel Adagio.”

I gawped. “She can afford a soiree like this?”

“She throws a party about three times a year, mostly for clients. Her business does very well.”

I recollected what Cinnamon had said about Raquel being financially set and having no motive to steal Geoffrey’s stamp.

“This one is for family,” Katie went on. “A reunion of sorts. Her mother, two sisters, the older one’s husband and their six children. You know Raquel’s father died, right?”

“I didn’t until Cinnamon mentioned it.” I had never been close to the Adagio family.

“Why would she have said anything?” Katie asked.

“It pertains to the investigation. So, it sounds like you’ll have a full house.”

“Yes, I’m seating them at the long table by the window. Raquel told me all of them have a sweet tooth, which is why I need your opinion on these desserts.” Katie pointed to a plate of cupcakes. “In addition to the ice cream and crackle, I have dark chocolate mini cupcakes with peppermint swirl icing.”

“Nice.” I nodded. “That’s simple and appealing.”

Bailey ate one in three bites. “And tasty. Kids will love them.”

I said, “You could do three different flavors of cupcakes with the same icing.”

Katie shot a finger at me. “I like that idea. And I could decorate them with these teensy chocolate toys I discovered on the Internet.” She fetched a box and plucked three items from it: a rocking horse, a snowman, and a tin soldier, each about an inch tall. “Aren’t they adorable?”

“Adorable. Speaking of toys . . .” I said as I took a bite of the succotash. “Mm-mm. Definitely moist. It might need a bit of white pepper, though.”

“Already in there.”

“Add more.”

“Noted. You were saying about toys?”

I filled them in on what had gone down at Jake’s last night and how surprised I was to learn that he and his wife had lost a child.

“What does that have to do with toys?” Bailey asked.

“His wife had been totally prepared to have a child. She’d purchased the furniture and a wealth of toys, and then, bam. The possibility was gone. Jake said she couldn’t have any more. Isn’t that sad?”

Katie’s face grew grim. “I can’t have children, either.”

“You can’t?” Bailey’s eyes widened.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Did you want to?”

“Oh, yeah. Big time. Keller and I have been talking about adopting.” She and her fiancé were next in line to get married. Then Cinnamon.

“What about you, Bailey?” Katie asked. “Do you want them?”

“She’s not sure.” I brandished a finger at our pal. “She doesn’t think she’ll be a good mother.”

“I might be changing my opinion on that,” Bailey said and downed another cupcake.

“Really?” I fist-bumped her shoulder. “All right.”

Katie turned to me. “How about you, Jenna?”

“I wanted children when I was married to David. Now I keep wondering if I’m too old, and . . .” I hesitated. “And I have to admit, I’m not sure I’ll be any good at it. It’s been tough handling my niece for a few days. The mood swings. The times when she shuts down. The moments when she’s like a firefly, flitting all over the place in body as well as thought.”

“Raising your own is different,” Katie said. “Many women have assured me of that. But if you’re going to have kids, you have to be ready. You have to be flexible. You have to”—she made an undulating motion with her hand—“cruise life’s ups and downs.”

Bailey shot her a look. “Cut it out.”

“Huh?” Katie frowned.

“Vera called you, didn’t she? She told you to say that.”

“Say what?”

Bailey undulated her hand. “‘Cruise life’s ups and downs.’”

“Get real, Bailey,” I chided. “Exactly when would my aunt have had time to call her?” I made an eerie woo-woo gesture in front of her face. “Go with the flow.”

My pal didn’t find my antics amusing. In fact, she looked spooked.