Chapter 17

 

“What’s wrong?” Cinnamon asked.

I swiveled to face her. The conversation between others in the waiting room grew quiet. “Jake’s sister was just here. You must have scared her off.” I summed up our conversation, pointing out that Olivia had a science background. “She seemed nice and sincere, but she’s a smoker. If Jake was poisoned by nicotine—”

“Jenna.” Appleby strode into the room. “Jake is asking for you.”

“Is he alert?”

“He’s groggy, but he’s going to survive. Chief, do you want to see him?”

“Absolutely.”

Appleby led the way. Cinnamon kept pace.

I trailed them. “Chief, does the lab know how the killer administered the liquid nicotine? Was it mixed in with cookie dough?”

“The technician isn’t sure about the source,” she said. “The effects at this dosage manifest between thirty minutes to an hour later.”

“Tito and Jake didn’t start taste testing cookies until after Olivia arrived,” I said, “so cookies might not have been the source. Maybe Olivia isn’t the killer, after all.”

Cinnamon asked Appleby to hold up. She turned to me. “Did Tito and Jake drink anything?”

“Punch,” I said, “but lots of people drank punch.”

“I drank it,” Appleby said. “But the punch was served in individual glasses. I suppose the killer could have dosed Tito and Jake’s drinks separately.”

“Using a syringe.” Cinnamon mimed the action.

Appleby agreed.

“It must taste gross,” I said. “How would the killer have doctored it so the taste wouldn’t be noticed?”

“What color was your punch?” Cinnamon asked.

“Red.”

“Cherry-flavored nicotine like you’d find at a vape store would probably do the trick.”

I said, “Tina was handing out the punch. The killer would have needed to know which glasses Tito and Jake would take. Wait! That’s not true.” I recounted the scene of the Santa with the sequined collar taking the tray of punch from Tina. “Santa signaled that someone needed Tina in the storage room. I figured my aunt had requested her. Tina handed the tray to Santa, who then made the rounds.”

“Did this Santa approach the victims and hand them specific glasses?” Cinnamon asked.

“I don’t recall.”

She turned to her deputy. “Appleby?”

“Sorry, Chief, I don’t remember, either.”

“Emmett Atwater smokes cigarettes,” I said. “Plus, Z.Z. said he gets all sorts of garden manuals. What if he dabbles in chemistry and figured out how to extract the nicotine?” At that instant, another image came to me, of Raquel’s cluttered SUV. “One other possibility.” I described Raquel’s dashboard to Cinnamon. “I presumed the aerosol cans were atomizers, but now I’m thinking they could have been e-cigarettes, like the ones you purchase at a vape store.”

“The fact that nicotine was used doesn’t mean a smoker did the deed,” Appleby said.

Cinnamon arched her eyebrow. “Why were you snooping in her vehicle, Jenna?”

“I wasn’t. I was helping her transport boxes from her stall at the festival. FYI, she says she told the police she went to church that night after the festival, but I’m not sure I believe her.”

Appleby shifted feet. “No matter what, slipping nicotine into the punch using a syringe or other applicator is going to be hard to prove. Each Santa was wearing gloves, which means you won’t find the killer’s fingerprints on any of the shot glasses.”

“Flora might be able to help,” I said. “She was in charge of renting most of the costumes. I’ll bet she knows who that particular Santa was.”

“Good call. If we could get hold of the gloves, there might be traces of nicotine on them or in the costume’s pockets.”

The policeman stationed outside Jake’s hospital room door saluted Cinnamon. “Nothing untoward, Chief.”

Cinnamon thanked him and went inside. Appleby and I followed.

The attending nurse, a stout woman with a kind face, held a finger to her lips. Jake had drifted to sleep in the time it had taken Appleby to fetch me. Given that Jake was out for the count, Cinnamon decided to forgo sticking around. Appleby, too.

Seeing the arterial line needle inserted into Jake’s arm and the IV fluid feeding into a vein in his hand made me queasy, but I tiptoed closer. He looked so vulnerable lying on the bed with the blanket tucked beneath his armpits. His breathing was ragged. His face was, indeed, covered with a rash.

“Can I hold his free hand?” I asked the nurse.

She nodded.

His eyelids fluttered when I touched his fingertips. Whispering, I said, “You’re going to be fine, Jake. Just fine.” Over the course of the next hour, I must have chanted those words fifty times.

When the nurse returned, she caught me mid-yawn and advised me to go home. She promised that someone from the hospital would keep me apprised of Jake’s status.

As I drove home, I called my father. I didn’t reach him and was forced to leave a message. I couldn’t explain everything before our connection fizzled.

When I got home, Tigger darted to me. He circled my legs, his tail curling around my ankles. I picked him up and kissed his nose. “Yes, I’m back, but all is not right with the world.” I set him down, hung my purse on the kitchen chair, and plugged in my cell phone to recharge.

The moment I did, it jangled. Rhett’s name appeared on the screen. I swiped the screen to answer. “Hey.” I couldn’t feign energy. I was beat.

“How’s Jake?” he asked.

“Out of trouble and resting.” I told him about the nicotine poison. “He didn’t rouse so I wasn’t able to speak to him. I’m home.”

“Would you like company?”

“I’d love it.”

I freshened up—fear and fretting were not good for one’s scent—and changed into an ecru draped-collar blouse and jeans. Padding barefoot, I threw together a plate of sliced manchego and crackers and fetched a bottle of Chalone chardonnay from the refrigerator.

When Rhett arrived, he swept me into his arms and held me tightly for a long time. I couldn’t imagine anywhere I’d rather be.

“How are you holding up?” he asked when he released me.

“Frustrated. Angry. What vile person would do this?”

“Inserting the poison right under everyone’s noses was bold. I’m not sure Emmett Atwater is capable of doing something like that. He seems pretty mousy.”

“Weasels might look cute and cuddly, but they are bloodthirsty. Do you know what other creature in the wild kills by biting the back of the neck? The jaguar.”

Rhett chucked my chin. “Aren’t you the wilderness expert.”

“Isn’t it funny the trivia we remember?” I skirted around him to fetch a wine opener. When I turned back, we bumped into each other. “Sorry.”

“Me, too. Small spaces.” He took the opener from me and expertly carved off the foil on the wine bottle. “What about Raquel Adagio? Has anyone figured out whether she was at the party dressed as Santa?”

“No clue.” I edged around him, nabbed a couple of cocktail napkins, and took the plate of cheese and crackers to the coffee table. Rhett brought the wine and glasses. We nestled on the sofa. In three shakes of a cat’s tail, Tigger joined us. “Raquel claims she has an alibi for the night Geoffrey was killed.” I took a bite of cheese and savored the flavor and nutty texture.

“How did you wheedle that out of her?”

“I don’t wheedle.”

He elbowed me. “Don’t be so sensitive. I’m teasing.”

“She was closing up at the festival and heading to the Nook for a family dinner. I helped her to her car and we got to talking. Because I was a friend of Jake’s, she decided to share what she’d told the police. She was at church Wednesday night listening to the choir.” I took a sip of wine. “You know, Flora Fairchild might be a valuable source of insider knowledge about this crime. She provided the costumes for the cookie swap, sold Jake’s wife the tree topper the killer used to stab Geoffrey, although Flora couldn’t remember seeing Raquel at church.”

“So she’s not a corroborating witness.”

I took another sip of wine. “Cinnamon intends to go through Flora’s inventory to search for the offending Santa’s costume.”

“Then it’s not your problem.” He raised a glass to toast mine. “Let’s table the discussion. For now.”

I clinked his glass, took a sip of wine, and set the glass on the coffee table. I leaned back and rested my head against the sofa. My eyes closed upon impact.

Rhett kissed my cheek and ran a hand along my shoulder. “Care to talk about us, sleepyhead?”

I opened my eyes, my curiosity piqued. “What about us?”

“About when, where, and how we’re getting married. You did say yes, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I did.” I wiggled my ring finger and swiveled to face him. “So . . .”

“Where will we have the wedding? How many people? Where’ll we live? This place—”

“Is too small and your cabin is too remote.”

“You love the beach.”

“Finding someplace on the water will be way out of our budget.”

“There are a few homes near Azure Park that might be manageable. From there, we can use the public access to the beach. And being that close to the park might be good for—”

“Whoa!” Adrenaline mixed with panic whooshed through me. I leaped to my feet and wrapped my arms around my rib cage. “Were you going to say kids?”

He jammed his lips together, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You were, weren’t you?” I headed to the kitchen. The tiny kitchen.

Tigger followed me. So did Rhett.

“Don’t you want a family?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said, sounding like Bailey not long ago.

Rhett slipped up behind me and encircled me with his arms. He nuzzled my neck. “You’re so good with Lacy.”

“Because I can give her back to her parents. And she’s a teenager. She can talk and walk—”

“And chew gum all at the same time.”

“Ha-ha.” I twisted in his arms and gazed into his eyes. “How many?”

“I was thinking two.”

“Who would take care of them? We both have full-time jobs.”

“I thought you’d—”

“Give up my job? No.”

“I was going to say hire a nanny.” He grinned. That dimple I adored carved his cheek.

I ran my index finger along it. “A nanny?”

He took hold of my finger and kissed the tip. “We’ll figure it out. We can—”

Tigger yowled and dashed to the front door. He stood facing it and hissed. He never hissed.

Rhett and I broke apart and in a few strides flanked Tigger.

“What is it, fella?” I knelt beside him and rubbed his back. He was stiff with alarm. “Rhett, he’s really spooked. Is someone outside?”

Rhett peeked out the peephole. “I don’t see anyone.” He put his hand on the doorknob.

“Don’t. Wait.” I tore to the fireplace, fetched the poker, and ran back.

Rhett took it from me, opened the door, and stepped onto the porch. He peered right and left. “I don’t see anyone running. No cars nearby.” He turned to move inside and drew up short. “Jenna.” He pointed at the front door. “That wasn’t here when I arrived.”

My berry and celosia wreath was gone. A black wreath made of rose lace and adorned with black beads hung in its place. The wind was whisking it to and fro. Tigger must have heard the lace scratching the door.

Heart racing, I jerked the thing off the hook and tossed it into the trash.

Rhett closed and locked the door and hurried to me. He laid the poker on the kitchen counter. “What’s going on?” He gripped my shoulders. “You’re shivering.”

“Lacy and I saw something similar at the festival. She called it a funeral wreath.”

“Who would have put it there?”

“I don’t know.” I broke free and paced the floor. “Olivia and Gran were checking out black wreaths the night Geoffrey was killed.”

“You think Olivia did this?”

“I suppose if Raquel realized I saw her e-cigarettes on the dashboard of her car, she could have done this.” I justified my reasoning. “Emmett Atwater was at the festival the other night, too. He might have learned that Z.Z. told me what she’d discovered about him. Hanging a creepy wreath is a passive-aggressive thing to do.”

“Does Flora sell these in her shop?”

“She might.”

“So anyone in town could have purchased it.”

Someone knocked. My insides jolted. I ran to the door and squinted through the peephole. My aunt, Whitney, Lacy, and Spencer were standing outside. I whisked open the door and invited them in.

“Dear, is everything okay?” Aunt Vera caught sight of Rhett and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my. I’m sorry to intrude. I didn’t notice your truck, Rhett. Turn around, everyone. Out. March.”

“Stop,” Rhett said. “You’re not intruding, Vera. We were just chatting.”

“You slammed the front door,” she said. “Is everything all right, Jenna?”

“Yes. No.” I pointed at the trash. The wreath was clearly visible. “Someone hung that on my door.”

Lacy pounced upon the wreath and held it up by her forefinger. “Ew, Aunt Jenna. It’s exactly like the one we saw.” Tigger did a little jig around her ankles, as if she might play keep away with him. “It’s a warning.”

“A warning?” Whitney stared at me. “Why would someone need to warn you, Jenna?”

“I’ll do a perimeter search.” Rhett whipped open the door.

Spencer said, “I’ll go with you.”

Whitney hugged me. “You poor thing. You’re shaking.”

“No, I’m not. You’re holding me too tightly.” I pressed away and slapped on a courageous smile. “We heard something scratching the door. Actually, Tigger heard it. We investigated but didn’t see anyone running away. No car. It had to be Emmett Atwater. Easy access.”

Aunt Vera said, “You don’t honestly think he killed Jake’s friend, do you?”

“He’s got it in for Jake. He hates him. He hates Christmas.”

“No, he doesn’t.” She wagged a finger. “He’s just sad and a tad jealous. His wife loved the holidays. She adored decorating and went over the top every year. Like Jake.” Keller had said the same thing. “Now that she’s gone, Emmett is bitter that Jake celebrates even though his wife died, too. Some people can’t move on. I fear Emmett might be one of them.”

Whitney said, “Lacy and I saw him at the bank earlier today, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Lacy nodded. “I pointed him out because, you know.” She flicked her hands by her face. “Those beady eyes.”

“He looked pitiful,” Whitney said.

“Maybe he’s in financial trouble,” my aunt suggested. “He might have been trying to get a loan, and someone turned him down.”

My sister nodded. “That could be the reason he doesn’t put up decorations. I don’t know about you guys, but the cost of electricity in Southern California has soared.”

“That gives him an even better motive,” I said. “What if he broke into Jake’s house hoping to steal the Blue Mauritius so he could cash it in?”

“The what?” Aunt Vera’s eyes widened.

“A very rare stamp,” Lacy said. “But the killer didn’t steal that one.”

“No, he didn’t,” I said. “He took Geoffrey’s stamp by mistake. Maybe his intent was to take the Blue Mauritius so he could get out of the hole, but he veered into the wrong room.”

Rhett returned. “I didn’t see anything out there.”

Spencer followed him inside. “No one on the beach, either.”

“What if a ghost brought the wreath?” Lacy howled like a banshee.

Whitney swatted her. “Stop.”

“Why? I believe in otherworldly spirits, don’t you?”

My aunt said, “All right, you three. Back to my place for dessert, after which we’ll call it a night.” She said to me, “They’re craving dessert since they couldn’t eat any of the cookies at the swap.”

“How is Jake feeling?” Lacy asked.

“He’s out of the woods.”

My aunt released a sigh of relief. “That’s wonderful news. Do you two want to join us for dessert?”

We declined.

“Will you stay the night, Rhett?” Whitney asked.

Lacy clapped her hands over her ears and sang, “La-la-la-la.”

Rhett smiled at me. I felt my cheeks warm.

“That’s not what I meant,” my sister said. “I simply meant that if he’s not staying, then maybe Jenna would like to bunk with us.”

“La-la-la,” Lacy repeated.

“Very funny. Go.” Whitney prodded her daughter through the door. Spencer chuckled.

Seeing them as a happy family made my heart swell with joy. “I’ll be fine,” I assured her.

My aunt stopped at the door and turned back. “What do you know about the man Gracie’s dating?”

“He seems nice.”

“Z.Z. told me he’s adamant about buying Jake’s house.”

“It’s a pipe dream.”

“What if he thought that by killing Jake he’d have a better chance at acquiring ownership?”

A shiver ran up my neck. “Are you picking up on my vibes?”

“You’ve felt the same? The timing does seem quite coincidental.”

Rhett looped an arm over my shoulder. “I can’t see the guy setting his sights on Jake’s house as a motive for murder. A lot of red tape goes into buying a house in probate.”

“Good point,” I said. “Plus, Adam Kittridge wasn’t in town today. He went to San Francisco to spend time with his granddaughter, so he couldn’t have had anything to do with poisoning Tito and Jake.”

“That settles that,” my aunt said. “Call if you need me.”

As I closed the door, I eyed the black wreath again. If the killer’s intent was to unnerve me, it had worked.