Friday morning came too soon, but when my alarm went off, I was up like a shot. I had so much to do to prepare the store for the Harvest Festival. The Main Street Fair, which kicked off the festival, began at four p.m., and I wanted to be sure we had plenty of goodies – including some of our infamous “Book Grab Bags” for the kids. Each grab bag was going to include a coloring book, a chapter book, and a coupon for ten percent off their next purchase in the store. I’d ordered a whole bunch of fun but inexpensive titles a few weeks back, and my morning’s work was to fill the pumpkin-shaped bags and have them ready for the Fair.
Plus, I wanted to beef up the pumpkin window display, change out the other window to focus on Autumn-themed fiction, including several copies of Isabelle Allende’s House of Spirits, which Marcus’s mom had just recommended glowingly in our latest newsletter. I’d also printed up a poster-sized copy of that newsletter with a “Sign-Up Inside” bubble attached in the hopes that we’d grow our mailing list over the weekend. This was our last chance to really grab the readers before the town got sleepy quiet for the winter season. I was hoping that more email subscribers might mean more special orders, especially if we offered discounted shipping for larger orders.
So I threw some bread with extra sharp cheddar under the oven’s broiler as I double-checked that my backpack had everything I needed for the day. Then I ate as Mayhem and I walked to the store. I loved days like these – busy and full of potential, but they also made my stomach ache. I fed most of the cheese toast to Mayhem.
Marcus came in early that day, and so he staffed the store while I worked on the displays. When I was done, the windows were full and looked perfectly autumnal. I’d placed candles with artificial flames on pedestals and stools of various heights in both windows to tie them together. Then, I’d perched the books for each theme on ladders and chairs in the displays, leaving plenty of room for Mayhem’s dog bed in the fiction window. Then, I’d placed small pumpkins and gourds from Elle’s farm around in groupings and finally centered my newsletter poster and a sign that Cate had hand-painted from the leftover paneling last night that read, “All Things Pumpkin” to the left-side of the other window.
Outside, Woody had hung my new planters, and Elle was there filling them with the most amazing plants, mums and coleus with lots of bright yellow pansies in the front. The boxes were just the perfect touch, and I even loved the little card advertising the planters for sale in the corner below the fiction display. I had no doubt Elle and Woody would be getting lots of orders soon.
About noon, Galen walked in with Mack. The Bulldog headed right to the front window to join Mayhem and Taco. Galen picked up a couple of thrillers, including a copy of The Summer House by James Patterson. ”How does this man write so many books?” he asked as I handed him his purchases.
“Help,” I said. “He writes most of his new books with ghostwriters now, but he picks good ones, ones who get his style. And he has this whole new series of kids’ books that are so fun.” I pointed over to a cardboard display that Patterson’s publisher had sent over for the holiday sales season. “He’s got a good thing going, and he’s good at helping other writers, too. I like him.”
Galen smiled and snapped a picture of the display. “I like him, too. His books are so fun. Next time, I want a couple of those children’s books, okay? Remind me? “
I smiled and then gestured to the front window. “Feel like leaving Mack for a while?”
“How could I tear him away?” He looked at the chubby English Bulldog. “I mean, literally. I can’t carry him, and it certainly doesn’t look like he’s going to leave of his own volition. You don’t mind?”
“Not a bit. Just come by before the fair starts and pick him up? I don’t think I can hold all three of them back when the funnel cake stand arrives,” I didn’t know if I could hold myself back, now that I thought about it.
“See you then.” Galen headed out the door and greeted Cate, who was standing with Sasquatch in her arms and pointing to the sleeping trio.
I stepped out the door. “Leave him. They can take a group nap.”
“Perfect. I am running late and didn’t know how I was going to drop him with Lucas at the museum and get my exhibition done by the time the fair started. You’re a life-saver.” She passed me the pooch and took off down the street at a brisk clip.
When I set Sasquatch in the window, he sniffed, turned a circle like a cat, and dropped onto his side like he was dead. Soon, I could hear four dogs snoring from the window, and I found myself a little jealous. Some days a group nap sounded like just about the best thing. All my friends and a good snooze – that would be so comforting. But not today, there was too much to do.
As Marcus and I bustled about filling gaps on the front tables, pulling down some overstock from Woody’s new bookshelves, and adding everything from the backroom to the floor, I caught glimpses of lots of people photographing the puppy puddle in the front window. About every third person then came in to see the pooches in person and many of those folks bought books. Once again, hound-dog laziness was good for business.
About three o’clock, Marcus came back from his late lunch, and I decided to grab a quick snack and catch my breath in the café. Rocky brought me her newest café addition – a salted caramel, chocolate chip scone – and I dug in with my feet propped on a chair across from me. I leaned my head against the window.
The next thing I knew, the chair under my feet was jerked away, and I woke up to see Tuck smirking at me. “A bit tired, Ms. Beckett?”
I groaned. “I guess so.” I sat up straight and hoped I hadn’t been asleep long enough to flatten my hair on one side. It was a hazard of short, coarse, curly hair – it took on the shape of whatever it touched. Headbands left impressions that could be seen for days. “What’s up, Sheriff?”
Tuck sat down in the chair he’d just removed and sighed. “Mart coming in today?”
I looked at the watch over Rocky’s register. “Yeah. In fact, she should be in soon. Why?”
“Just need to ask her about Tiffany Steinberg.” He pulled his hand down his face. “This is probably the worst time to need to solve a murder.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Is there a good time?”
The sheriff smiled. “No. But with the festival, I have crowd control to do, and there’s always a need to ticket the people who think it’s okay to park in front of driveways. That stuff alone more than taxes my tiny staff of two.” He let out another hard sigh.
A tinkle of the bell above the front door drew my attention, and I looked over to see Mart bouncing in as she laughed and pointed at the dogs. “Harvey, seriously, you have to see this.”
Tuck and I stood up and headed toward the front door. There we saw a perfect circle of puppy-pillow prowess. Taco had his head on Mayhem’s back. She had her head on Mack’s back, Mack’s head was on Sasquatch, and Sasquatch closed the loop by sleeping on Taco. We could not have possibly posed them that well if we’d tried.
I cooed and took out my phone. This was the stuff of Instagram gold.
After admiring the puppies, Tuck asked if Mart had a few minutes, and she nodded. “Mind if we use the backroom, Harvey?” Tuck asked.
“Sure as long as you don’t mind me coming in and out. I need to set up the grab bags and all the supplies are in there,” I said. I was being truthful. I did need to set up, and the supplies were there. But it could have waited. My curiosity just knew no bounds.
Mart and Tuck settled around the table in the back corner, and I busied myself by filling the goodie bags on the boxes out of which I took the supplies. My nosiness made my job far harder than it would have been if I had just taken the supplies to the tables Marcus had set up by the front door, but I couldn’t bring myself to miss anything.
“Do you know where in Minnesota Tiffany was from, Mart?” Tuck asked, his pen poised over his notebook.
“Nope. But she could have told me. The only place I know in Minnesota is Minneapolis-St. Paul. Actually, that might be two places, right? If she’d named a town, I might not remember.” Mart played with her pony tail for a minute. “She did mention running on the prairies, though, said the scenery around here reminded her of the lakes and long fields she used to train in. So maybe she was from some place rural?”
Tuck nodded. “And did she tell you how she met Cagle?”
Mart shook her head. “Nope. She just said that he had coached her for the Olympics. But she didn’t tell me how she’d met him.”
“She ran in the Olympics?” Tuck was writing quickly.
“No, she came in fourth at the trials.” Mart stole a glance at me and winked while Tuck was focused on his notes.
I blushed. Of course, she would know I was eavesdropping. Chagrined, I picked up my now-full bags and headed out the door.
A few minutes later, Mart and Tuck emerged from the backroom, and he waved as he headed toward the front door. “Tuck get everything he needed?” I asked as casually as possible when Mart came to help me finish laying out the goodie bags.
“You are no end of nosy, woman,” Mart said with a chuckle and then a sigh. “But no, I don’t think I helped much at all. I just didn’t have enough specific information.” She organized the last row of bags, and we headed toward the table on the other side of the door.
As I straightened copies of our newsletter, I said, “What was he trying to find out?”
Mart lowered her voice. “Apparently, Tiffany Steinberg doesn’t have any record in Minnesota. He couldn’t even find a driver’s license or anything.”
I studied the stack of business cards in my hand. “Well, that probably makes sense, right? I mean, if she was trying to hide, she probably needed to change her name, right? It would be too easy to Google her actual name and find her, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s what I said.” Mart straightened the vase full of Elle’s flowers. “He agreed, but he did wonder if she’d given any hints about her life there.” She dropped her voice a few more decibels. “It sounds like he really thinks she might be a suspect.”
I felt a weight drop in my chest. “I was afraid of that.” I looked at Mart. “I really like her, though, you know? I hope she didn’t do this.”
“Me, too,” Mart said as she gave me a hug. “Me, too.”
Just before the fair was officially set to begin, I ducked into the bathroom and did what I could with my face and hair. “What I could” amounted to a fresh application of powder, a little lip gloss, and a twist of the blue stripe in my hair to show it off. As I gave the curl one last tug, a thought came to mind, and I grabbed my phone as I headed toward the front tables to greet the already-growing influx of customers. I had just enough time to send off a quick text before the full-on meet-and-greet began.
The next two and a half hours flew by. We had customers the entire time, many of whom were just excited to meet the dogs and a few of whom also shopped.
Galen had come back for Mack at four fifteen, but then, he’d decided to stay. Soon, it began apparent he was also a huge draw, and Marcus had gotten him a table from the café. He was now signing autographs and letting people pet Mack. Clearly, he needed to write a book. He’d be an instant hit.
By the time seven p.m. rolled around, I was pooped, and we still had the parade the next day with prep for that to finish up. As soon as we finished clean-up, Rocky and Marcus headed out for a quiet night of movies and pizza, they said, and I found myself quite jealous. Still, my friends were coming soon, and rumor had it – via Stephen – that onion rings were on their way. I could eat the crap out of a hamburger and some onion rings, I decided.
Within a few minutes, everyone was gathered on the float at the back of the store, and we were munching on some of the best greasy food I’d ever consumed. Apparently, Walter had picked it up from a little counter-service place down in Princess Anne when he was on his way home with the pièce de résistance for the float: a full-size Woodstock costume that he’d had custom-fitted for Mayhem. I could have hugged him for the outfit, but mostly I hugged him for the onion rings.
Cate’s pumpkin was perfect, and she’d brought a palette of paints to add some dimension to the coloring. Daniel was getting Mart’s help with his bald cap. Walter and Stephen had decided that they were going to join the float as Linus and his blanket and were working on exactly how to drape Stephen in a blue blanket that would make it look like Walter was holding him. Just watching them try to figure that out was a huge boost to my energy. Then, when I saw Tiffany appear at the end of the alley in a giant yellow wig that made her look exactly like Sally, I knew the float was going to be perfect. Ridiculous but perfect, too.
We were almost done with our float work when I saw Scott come down the alley with people who I assumed were his family – a gorgeous woman in a long skirt and high boots and two children with amazing haircuts. “Oh, I’m so glad you could make it,” I said as I walked over to shake his hand. Scott introduced me to his family, and the kids moved instantly toward Taco and Mayhem.
“I wasn’t sure exactly what I was in store for when your text said, ‘Meet us in the alley at eight,’ but a chance for a little adventure sounded pretty perfect,” Scott said.
It had occurred to me that one way we could figure out more about Tiffany was to introduce her to another person with Minnesota roots. Plus, I was still trying to figure out what exactly was nagging me about Scott. “So glad you guys could come. Let me introduce you around.”
We made our way through the group with me telling everyone that Scott was the genius behind my new haircut, and everyone complimenting him and then saying they’d be in touch to get their own haircuts soon. When we reached Tiffany, I said, “You guys have something in common, actually. You are both from Minnesota.”
Tiffany scowled for a second, but then, she put on a smile and reached out to shake Scott’s hand. “Nice to meet you. You’re the hair genius?”
Scott grinned. “I wouldn’t go that far. But yes, I’m a stylist.”
“I’ll have to stop in.” She tugged on her long, straight hair. “Clearly, I could use a cut.”
“Here’s my card. Just give me a call, “ Scott said.
“Where in Minnesota did you say you’re from, Scott?” I asked, trying to get to the information Tuck wanted.
“I lived most of time just outside St. Paul. Little town no one has ever heard of called Hastings,” he said as he waved to his daughter who was infatuated with Taco’s ears.
I looked over in time to see Tiffany blanch and then grab the float. “You’re from Hastings?” she stammered.
“Yep, born and raised. You?”
“Um, from close to there. Nice to meet you.” She looked at me, and her eyes were huge. “See you in the morning, Harvey.” She tossed her wig up onto the float and almost ran down the alley.
Scott looked after her and then at me. “She okay?”
“Oh yeah, I think so. Been a long week, I think.”
Scott furrowed his brow as he watched Tiffany’s back recede down the alley. “Yeah, I guess so.”