Chapter 20

 

I hated that my aunt had put a negative thought in my head about Jake. Why would he have killed Geoffrey? Plus, he was caught on camera at the grocery store. Did the time of death match his alibi?

My stomach grumbled. I needed food. I hurried to the café, and after making sure Tina was calmer, I chose the daily sandwich combo Katie was featuring on the menu—a hoagie with salami, provolone, and peppers with a side of shoestring fries. I returned to the shop and disappeared into the storage room to call my father.

After spreading out my meal on the desk and opening the sandwich so I could eat the insides first—my favorite part—I tapped in Dad’s number on my cell phone.

When I reached him, he informed me that he and Lola were having a nightcap at the bar on the boat. The charming city of Würzburg was their view.

“Are you jealous?” he asked.

“You bet I am.” How I craved a vacation.

“What’s up? How’s Jake coping? I tried calling him at home. He didn’t pick up.”

I filled my father in about the nicotine poisoning but assured him Jake was on the mend. Then I launched into the doubt my aunt had stirred in me.

“Jake would never kill anyone,” my father said. “Never.”

“He hit someone when he was younger. Beat him to a pulp.”

“That was ages ago.”

“You knew about it?”

“Yes.”

Bailey slipped into the storage room. She mimed asking if I wanted her to leave. I twirled a finger, signaling she could stay, and pressed Speaker on the phone.

“Bailey has joined me. I’m letting her listen in.”

“Hey, Bailey,” my father said. “Your mother is having the time of her life.”

“Good to hear. Give her my love, but don’t let me interrupt.”

“Will do. Moving on, Jenna, what motives do you have for each of your primary suspects?”

Bailey snatched some of my fries. Usually, I’d swat her fingers. This time I let her have them.

“Jake’s sister Olivia might believe she’ll inherit his money, being his only remaining family, but he’s written a will that gives everything he has to charity.”

“Does she know that?” Dad asked.

“I don’t have a clue.”

“Does she have an alibi?”

“She gave me one, but I called her out on it, knowing it was false. She fled before providing another.”

“Next suspect?”

I loved how black and white Dad could be at times. “Raquel Adagio, who owns Forget Me Not Collectibles—”

“I knew her father.”

I spelled out the significance of the Blue Mauritius stamp and how Gran had overheard Raquel crowing about it. “Jake showed it to Raquel on the first night of the festival, the night Geoffrey died. It’s possible she stole into Jake’s house, took the wrong stamp from Geoffrey’s room because the guest room and master bedroom look the same, and as she was running out, Geoffrey accosted her.”

“Is she strong enough to kill someone his size?”

“He wasn’t that big, Dad. Skin and bones, like Jake. And Raquel regularly lifts large boxes. The Christmas items the killer used to stab him and strangle him were right by the kitchen door, too, which makes me think this could have been a spur-of-the-moment act, not premeditated.”

“Does she have an alibi?”

“She claims she was at church. I don’t know if Cinnamon has corroborated that.”

“Make a note,” he said.

Bailey fetched a notepad and pen and scribbled his command.

I launched into my third suspect, Emmett Atwater. “My biggest problem with Emmett is he would’ve recognized Jake, so why kill Geoffrey?”

“Was it dark?”

“No. Jake’s house is lit up like a Christmas palace.”

“Maybe Emmett has a sight issue or photophobia,” Dad suggested.

“What’s that?” Bailey asked.

“Sensitivity to light,” I said. A colleague at Taylor & Squibb had the hardest time whenever she was on a set and flash photography was being used. She couldn’t handle the strobing effect. “I’d mentioned to Cinnamon that anger might have blurred his vision, Dad.”

“That’s a good possibility.”

Bailey jotted another note.

My father said, “Go to Cinnamon and review all that you have. See what else she will share.”

“She won’t—”

“Do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell her I asked her to do me the favor of looping me in on this one. I owe Jake.”

We ended the call, and I turned to Bailey. “Hungry?” My fries and the meat on my hoagie were gone.

Her cheeks reddened. “Guess I was. Sorry. I could use a latte, couldn’t you? My treat.” She tucked the notes she’d written in the pocket of her capris and grabbed her purse.

When we emerged from the storage room, Tina was at the checkout counter, Aunt Vera was aligning books on shelves, and three customers were browsing Christmas-themed kitchen items.

“Back in a few,” I said.

On the way to Latte Luck Café, I realized Bailey must have come into the storage room to chat, but now she wasn’t saying a word. I nudged her elbow. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“No.”

I pulled her to a stop. “Bailey . . .”

“I am pregnant.”

“I knew it! Congratulations.” I clutched her shoulders. “Hold it. Your lower lip is trembling. What’s wrong? Are you nervous? Afraid of getting fat? Worried about being a mother?”

“All of the above. What if I cry all the time, or my brain becomes mush or—”

“Mothers don’t lose their ability to think.”

“I’ll have to take time off from work.”

“Of course. We’ll manage. What else?” I gazed into her worried eyes. “There’s something else. I feel it down to my toes. Spill.”

“You’d make a good detective.” She shimmied free of me and rubbed between her eyebrows to de-stress. “Tito thinks I should become a full-time mother.”

“Uh-uh. You’ve been working since you were sixteen. You like to work. It stimulates those little gray cells. Tell him we’ll accommodate whatever schedule you need. Besides . . .” I knuckled her arm.

“Besides what?”

“Don’t forget about your new role as a limited partner.”

“Yipes! I did forget. My mind is mush. Come on. Let’s really celebrate. My treat.” Bailey clasped my hand and rushed forward to the café. She pushed through the doors, pulling me inside with her. “I’m also in the mood for ice cream.”

“And pickles?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

I scrunched my nose. “Ew.”

As per usual in the afternoon, Cinnamon was at the café, too. She often came in to pick up local gossip. Anything to help solve a case. She was at the counter paying for an iced coffee.

When she caught sight of Bailey and me, she raised an eyebrow. She popped a straw into her drink and sidled up to us. “Looking for me?”

“No, we’re celebrating,” Bailey said. “I’m pregnant.” The news instantly defused the tension.

“How wonderful.” Cinnamon gave her a hug. “Are you excited? When are you due?”

“Late May, early June.”

“You’re three months pregnant?” Cinnamon gaped. “But you don’t show.”

“The doctor tells me I will around five months.” Bailey’s eyes gleamed with happiness, and I breathed easier. Our little chat had done wonders to relieve her stress about making such a big life decision. She pulled the notes she’d written from her pocket and handed them to me. “Here you go.”

“What are those?” Cinnamon asked.

I said, “I spoke with my father, and he wanted me to ask you a few questions.”

“Swell, now he’s joining the Jenna Hart Detective Agency?”

“Cut it out.”

“Sorry. Feeling snarky and a bit flummoxed by this case. Go on.”

“He’d like you to do him the favor of looping him in on this. He owes Jake.” And you owe him, I thought, but I kept my mouth shut.

Cinnamon took a sip of her drink. “What does he want to know?”

Reading from the list, I said, “Do you know if Emmett Atwater has photophobia, which would explain how he mistook Geoffrey for Jake?”

“I don’t. I’ll follow up.”

“Did he confess to lying about my brother-in-law returning to the scene?”

Cinnamon wriggled her mouth.

“Forget that. You know he did. How about verifying Raquel Adagio’s alibi?”

“I told you I don’t believe Raquel—”

I shook the notes. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

She grunted. “You and your father. Man, oh, man. Okay, I asked her. She seemed cagey. Appleby’s checking out her alibi. In the meantime, I ordered a search warrant for her house and shop. We didn’t find anything in either. What else?”

“Did you track down Olivia Chapman? Flora gave you her cell phone number.”

“How do you—”

“I happened to be in Home Sweet Home earlier with my sister and niece, and Flora mentioned the mix-up with the costume gloves.”

Cinnamon frowned. “She shouldn’t have.”

“I think she confided in me because the poisoning happened at my shop, and Jake is my friend. She said you found the syringe in Tina’s costume pocket, but there’s not a chance she did it.”

“I agree.”

Phew. I let out the breath I was holding. “Did you find fingerprints on the syringe?”

“No. Wiped clean.”

“If you can’t reach Olivia by cell phone, you might check the area near the lake by Rhett’s cabin for her car. A few homeless people saw her in the vicinity.”

“Aren’t you a wealth of information.” She took another sip of her drink, making a loud slurp. On purpose. “Listen, Jenna, my people have been questioning everyone who attended the party. Flora provided a list of all the people to whom she rented costumes. We will get to the bottom of this. Promise your father that. And when I come up with more data, I’ll fill you in so you can loop him in, okay?” After miming the twirling of a rope, she made a U-turn and strode out of the shop.

Bailey and I purchased our drinks—she’d been kidding about craving ice cream and pickles—and we headed back to the Cookbook Nook. Right before reaching Fisherman’s Village, I saw Olivia feeding a meter for her car. She had slung three wreaths of varying colors on her forearm.

“There she is,” I said to Bailey.

“Who?”

“Jake’s sister. I’d like to speak to her.”

“Go. I’ll make sure everything runs smoothly at the shop.”

“No heavy lifting,” I warned.

“Don’t baby me.” Bailey gave me a quick hug followed by a gentle push.

I hastened my pace to catch up to Olivia. “Hey there,” I said.

She whirled around. The flaps of her pea coat flew open, revealing a navy blue turtleneck. The blue jeans were the same pair she’d worn to the hospital. Her hair was brushed and wet. She smoothed her hair with a hand. “Forgive my appearance. I’m coming from the gym.”

Was that where she took showers since she didn’t have an apartment?

She closed her jacket and adjusted the wreaths she was carrying.

“Those are pretty,” I said. “Did you make them?”

“No. I bought them at the festival. For coworkers.” She fingered the berries on the red-toned wreath. “Each has a color preference. One likes cream. Another likes green.”

“Did you purchase a black one?”

“Black? Heavens. Do they make those? How horrid.” She wrinkled her nose.

At the hospital, she’d proven to be a good liar. Was she lying now?

“Sorry to say goodbye”—she lowered her chin the way she had the other day when Cinnamon had shown up in the hospital waiting room; she was getting ready to ditch me—“but I’m in a rush.” She strode north on Buena Vista.

I charged after her. For an older woman, she was fast.

“Where are you off to?” I asked.

“Home Sweet Home. Flora has sold one of my quilts.”

“Olivia, your brother was poisoned.”

“So you said.”

“Don’t you want to know how?”

“Of course.”

“By liquid nicotine.”

“Never heard of such a thing.” She hesitated. “You think I did it because I’m a smoker, don’t you?”

“You were a budding scientist in high school.”

“I didn’t poison my brother. I love him.”

“Why didn’t you stick around the hospital the other night, then, and wait to find out if he was okay?”

“Because . . .” She pressed her lips together.

“Because the chief of police appeared.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you lie about going to a hotel the night Jake’s friend was killed?”

Olivia exhaled. Her shoulders sagged. “You or the police are bound to find out. I’m an alcoholic, like our parents.”

As I’d suspected.

She sucked back a sob. “Coming here to see my brother, being nervous about meeting him, I fell off the wagon. What if he rejected me? Or he learned how low I’d sunk? That night, I went to buy more booze, but when I got to the store, I didn’t go in. I . . .” She plucked holly leaves on the cream wreath. “I went to an AA meeting.”

I put a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Is there anyone who could corroborate you being there?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t ask her to. They call it anonymous for a reason.” Tears flooded her eyes.

“Tell the police. I’m sure they’ll be able to keep their inquiry discreet.”

She lifted her chin and blinked with hope.