CHAPTER 18
C HAPTER 18
"I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!"
—Elizabeth Bennet, in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice
I checked the updated list of orders on my Notes app, made sure I didn't forget anyone, and in a matter of two hours, baked the scones and muffins I needed to deliver, packed each delivery in the appropriate boxes, left the dishes to soak in the sink, and dressed in jeans, white blouse, and peacoat. I threw on my scarf, too. The sun was shining, but the weather report said the temperature would be chilly. Before heading out, I assured Darcy I'd check in on him at midday. With a twitch of his tail, he bounded to the bay window and nestled on the sitting bench to soak in a beam of sunlight.
While tootling around town, Zach came to mind, but I forced myself not to text him. He was miffed at me. I didn't know him well, but I could imagine his response if I begged for mercy being akin to what my father's response would be—my mother's opinion about me investigating, notwithstanding. Drill it into your stubborn head, my father would say. You are not to get involved. End of story. If I knew what Zach's favorite cookie was, I could make him a couple dozen to win him over.
At noon, after all the deliveries were made, I went home. I gave Darcy a ten-minute hug-and-petting session, fixed myself a toasted English muffin topped with mozzarella cheese, sliced tomatoes, and chopped basil, and headed out again, this time to purchase supplies. It was impossible to shop at only one store for my goods. I picked up fruits and veggies at a farmers' market. Eggs were a specialty purchase at Garden Greene Farm. Their eggs were unparalleled, and they claimed it was the organic, homegrown feed they gave their chickens that did the trick. The best butter, however, was sold at Butting Heads Farm. They raised cows and sheep and churned butter daily. For flour and sugar, which I bought in bulk, I had to drive to Baker's Club, located at the eastern end of Main. The club was a warehouse setup for restaurants and concerns like mine. I tried to make any shopping trip in less than four hours but always failed.
After I'd unloaded all the perishable items at home—I'd cart them to Dream Cuisine in the morning—I dialed Tegan again. This time she answered, sounding depleted. When I asked why, she went into a tirade about Winston, who'd had the temerity to harangue her. I offered to bring takeout to the B&B. We could eat in her room, she could bend my ear, and I could tell her about my deep dive. Maybe, in person, I'd reveal that she was once again on Zach's persons-of-interest list. Maybe.
"I'd love a burger," she said. "From the Brewery. And potato skins. If you don't mind, bring enough for Mom . . . and Rick," she murmured, resigned to his presence in her mother's life. "Helga has been on a fancy-food kick, and Mom is craving good old diner food."
At dusk, the Brewery was hopping with activity. I perched at the bar and slung my coat onto the back of the swivel chair. Katrina and a male bartender I'd never met were on duty. She sashayed to me, and I gave her my order.
"Anything to drink while you wait?" she asked .
I requested an Audrey Hopburn beer and paid up front, adding a hefty tip.
Lickety-split, she placed my beer on a napkin on the bar. "Here you go."
"Nice bracelet." Today's beauty was handsomely made with jasper beads and a turquoise centerpiece.
"Like it?" She tapped her finger on the stone. "The seller said the combo is to promote ultimate healing and encourage calm and balance. Plus it's supposed to make me feel like a goddess."
"And does it?"
"I'm crossing my fingers. I'll put in your order now."
How could I get her to talk about the secret she wanted Marigold to keep?
While working on a conversation starter, I swung my chair around so I could observe the crowd. I spotted Lillian's friend, Yvonne, sitting with a trio of women and two men, one older, one younger. Yvonne looked fresh-faced and natural. The three women were wearing a lot of makeup, not the typical style in Bramblewood. I decided they were actresses in the upcoming musical and had come from a dress rehearsal. The younger man had a surly expression and longish hair that fell over the collar of his leather jacket. He looked familiar, but I couldn't place him. Repeatedly he checked his watch. The silver-haired man was regaling the others with a story.
From the far end of the bar, Katrina signaled my order was being prepared, then she began to wipe down the counter with a wet towel. Suddenly the surly man appeared and hissed her name.
Katrina jolted. The half of her face that I could see blazed with anger. "What d'you want, Upton?"
Upton. Of course. Her photographer ex-boyfriend. I'd seen his face in the photos when I'd researched Katrina online.
He pulled a manila envelope partway out of his jacket, whispered something I couldn't make out, and snickered. With the speed of a viper, Katrina flicked him with the towel. The distraction gave her an opening to snatch the envelope.
"Don't get cocky, babe. I've got more." Cackling, Upton swaggered to the theater group.
More what? I wondered.
Katrina pivoted, giving me a full glimpse of her face. Tears were pooling in her eyes. Her chin was trembling. She said something to her fellow bartender, ducked under the hatch, and raced through the saloon-style doors into the kitchen. The doors swung shut with a swoosh - clack.
Call me crazy, but something was not right, and I intended to find out what was up. Was her ex trying to buy his way back into her life, or had he involved her in some kind of nefarious scheme? Did whatever was in the envelope she'd seized have to do with her secret? Was I correct earlier when I'd guessed Katrina could use an influx of cash?
Katrina's coworker Wallis overheard Katrina warn Marigold, If anyone finds out, I'll know it was you who told them. Did Marigold figure out what angle this Upton jerk was working? I could see her taking the same tack she'd often employed with me and Tegan, giving advice and being the voice of reason, telling Katrina the guy wasn't worth it and to get out while she could. I could also imagine Katrina resenting Marigold's counsel, but would she have killed her to keep her from meddling?
Pretending to need my takeout in a hurry, I pressed through the swinging doors into the kitchen. I spied Katrina exiting out the rear entrance. The sous chef, who knew me because she also worked at one of the cafés I supplied with baked goods, said, "Allie, your dinner's up next."
"Thanks. I'll be out there with Katrina." I hooked my thumb .
When I stepped outside, I regretted having left my coat on the chair. Cool breath billowed from my mouth in puffs.
Katrina was pacing, muttering to herself, an unsmoked cigarette in one hand. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."
"Hi, Katrina," I said. I didn't have a match. I didn't offer a light. "I hope you don't mind sharing your space with me. I needed some fresh air. Long day. Lots of baking." I was prattling, but figured if I talked up a storm, I could persuade her to do the same. "You okay?"
"Yeah." She tossed the unlit cigarette on the ground and jammed it with her heel.
"You sort of, um, ran out after that guy—"
"I don't want to chitchat. Your dinner should be up. Go away."
"Is he your ex-boyfriend?" I asked, knowing he was.
She swiped her pinkies beneath both eyes to mop away tears.
I dared to proceed. "You and Marigold argued. Was it about him?"
Her face went dark. "Who told you we argued?"
"I can't remember."
She folded her arms across her chest. "It's none of your business."
Her tone made me feel like I'd been hit by an arctic freeze. "I'm sorry. I—"
"Leave me alone." She strode into the kitchen and shouted, "I'm heading home. I'm not feeling well."
Nobody stopped her. She marched into what I presumed was the employee locker area without a backward glance.
When I returned to the bar to fetch my coat, my order was sitting on the counter.
The Blue Lantern was aglow in warm ambient light when I arrived. I parked in the lot and strolled to the entrance. Guests were mingling in the parlor, chatting excitedly about the activities they'd shared during the day. A few were discussing the Celtic Festival. Others were talking about hikes they'd taken. I found Tegan sitting in a far corner with her mother, drinking red wine. The blue sheath Noeline was wearing matched her eyes. Tegan was dressed in leggings tucked into ankle boots and a cropped sweater that almost covered her midriff. Almost. A glimpse of skin made me shiver. The heater in the van hadn't eliminated the cold that had seeped into my bones while standing outside with Katrina.
"I've got dinner." I hoisted the bag. "Will Helga be upset?"
"Now you ask?" On cue, Helga bustled into the room with a tray of canapes. Her hair was knotted into a bun, but wisps of hair fell around her aging face. "I am the best cook in town, but you order in from the Brewery, of all places. No, I am not upset. Bah!"
Tegan sat taller. "You don't make burgers."
Helga scoffed. "Burgers are for riffraff."
"Then I guess we're riffraff." Tegan hopped to her feet and took the bag from me. " Mmm. Potato skins. Yay! Let's go to my room now. Mom, you too."
"Isn't Rick joining us?" I asked, scanning the crowd for him.
"Rick is off being noble." Noeline gathered the glasses they'd been sipping from and the bottle that sat between them.
"Reading to the kids at the hospital," Tegan replied.
"He usually does it on Saturday mornings and Thursday nights," Noeline said. "Tonight is an extra volunteer session. Isn't that wonderful?"
"Wonderful," Helga repeated, and harrumphed. I wasn't sure if she was commenting on our dinner plans or she didn't like Rick. I supposed she could be protective of Noeline. I didn't get a chance to ask. She left to serve the others in the room.
"Can you tell Mom is smitten?" Tegan teased as she tramped up the stairs .
"Noble is as noble does." Noeline trailed her daughter and knuckled her on the shoulder. "He's a good soul helping hospital communities thrive."
"Woot, woot, woot!" Tegan said, but her accompanying fist pumps were unenthusiastic.
Noeline thwacked her again. "Give him a chance."
On the second floor, decorative lanterns hung outside each door offering soft illumination. Tegan's room was situated at the far end. We stepped inside.
"It's magical," I said, shrugging out of my peacoat. I'd never been inside one of the guest rooms.
"Thank you," Noeline said. "I worked with a designer."
The view from the window was of the rear yard, which extended for quite a ways and was planted with graceful trees. The expanse featured a babbling fountain and seating areas designed so guests could sit in the shade while enjoying nature.
The interior of the room was white with blue trim. Paintings of Victorian homes and gardens adorned the walls. The drapes featured multicolored hanging lanterns. The linens on the queen-sized bed were a soft blue. The pillow shams matched the drapes. Furniture included a quaint blue table, with two scroll-back chairs, a mahogany dresser and armoire, and a small settee and coffee table. A hurricane lamp sat on a bedside table. An antique lamp with a lantern motif stood on the dresser. Both were turned on, by Helga, I presumed. Guests didn't relish walking into dark rooms.
"All of Mom's ideas made the final cut," Tegan said.
"And some of your aunt's," Noeline added, her voice catching. "Marigold had lots of good ones. The lamps. The hall fixtures. The drapes. She was superb at finding things online for me. I'm not computer savvy."
"I could teach you," Tegan said.
"You're sweet to offer, but I'm really not interested."
Tegan put the bag of food on the small table and pulled out the containers. The Brewery had supplied paper plates and plastic utensils. "Allie, you take the settee. Mom and I will pull these chairs over. You each want something of everything, right?"
"Yes, please," I said.
Noeline fetched another wineglass from the dresser and poured some red wine into it. "It's Chianti. I hope you like it." She handed it to me. "I heard you saw Vanna last night, Allie."
Oof. What had Vanna told her? "I, um, yes, we . . ." I realized I hadn't mentioned the altercation to Tegan.
"Vanna said she improperly accused you of stealing clients," Noeline went on.
"She what?" My voice squeaked. Vanna told the truth? Well, I'll be.
Tegan said, "The nerve of her. You? Filch her clients?"
"She didn't mean it," I said quickly, cutting Vanna some slack. After all, I'd delivered the final barb. "I mean, she did . . . accuse me . . . but she was ginned up from the music at the festival. It was rowdy." Oh, wow, could I weave a yarn. "Please tell her I'm not mad at her."
The corner of Noeline's mouth started twitching, leading me to believe she knew the whole story. "Don't worry," she whispered, confirming my suspicion. "She has a short fuse, but she gets over her miffs just as fast."
I sipped my wine, not believing her for a minute.
"She's so like her father," Noeline added. "The man could be such a hothead. Vanna leaps before she thinks. Why, that's the very reason she accused you of murdering your aunt, darling."
"Tegan . . ." I began, earnestly wanting to inform her that Zach considered her a person of interest again.
"Yes?"
I couldn't speak. My mouth felt as if I'd swallowed alum. I licked the inside and started again. "Nothing." Changing gears, I said, "Noeline, I've been meaning to ask. Do you know which jewelry store your sister frequented to have her jewelry cleaned, possibly the one who brokered her deals?"
Noeline shook her head. "She was circumspect about her purchases. I think she worried that I might chastise her for spending so much money."
"I thought her long-lost lover gave her the jewelry," Tegan said.
"Some of it," her mother replied, "but not all."
Tegan set our plates on the table and passed us each a napkin. "Dig into the food, and then, Allie, spill. What have you drummed up?"
"Detective Armstrong would prefer if I didn't."
"Don't listen to him," Tegan said. "It's not like the police are breaking any speed barriers solving Auntie's murder."
"Who do you suspect?" Noeline asked around a mouthful of potato skin topped with sour cream and chives.
I told her the three names and why, adding that Marigold might have discovered Katrina's secret regarding her ex-boyfriend. I recapped how Upton hounded Katrina at the Brewery earlier, but she wouldn't talk to me about it.
"Do you think Auntie wrote down what she knew?" Tegan asked.
"Good question. We should look through her computer tomorrow and review any notes she might have jotted down."
"Tell Mom about Graham."
I did, adding that we weren't sure about the specifics of his argument with Marigold.
"As for Piper Lowry," I said, "Quinby Canfield is convinced she's a killer."
"Quinby Canfield." Noeline wrinkled her nose. "That man could kill a fake plant."
I detected some history between them, but didn't have to ask because Noeline continued .
"I interviewed him to redo the inn's gardens. I wanted to add more azaleas. He said azaleas didn't do well here. Ha! " She coughed out a derisive laugh. "They are the most populous plant in the Asheville area other than Indian hawthorn and mountain laurel. So I checked out his references and not one former client had anything good to say about him. Plus don't get me started about his Yelp! reviews."
I recalled Stella Burberry claiming Quinby lived frugally. Perhaps being bad at his job was the cause. Was there a reason he might have held a grudge against Marigold and pinned the crime on Piper to deflect suspicion from himself?
"Back to Piper." Tegan sighed. "I can't believe she's a killer."
"Lillian said Piper is secretive," I said. "She saw Piper hugging a younger man. She thought the boy was over sixteen, but what if"—I swallowed hard—"he wasn't?"
"No way," Noeline said. "Besides, she was at the bookstore when we all arrived, so she couldn't have done it."
"Mother, are you as na?ve as toast? Anybody who was there could have done it. There are more than two hours unaccounted for after Graham saw Auntie that morning, and Allie talked to her on her cell phone." Tegan paused. "I think the killer lay in wait outside her house, followed her to the shop, sneaked inside, did the deed, and left out the rear, avoiding being picked up by any CCTVs—"
"Those weren't working in the area," I said.
"Right," Tegan continued. "Do you think the killer knew that?"
"Hard to say."
"No matter what, the killer avoided being seen by anyone in the area. Since there was no blood at the crime scene, the killer didn't need to go home and change. Feeling cocky, he—"
"Or she," I cut in.
"He or she came to the shop at the regular opening time to establish they were as innocent as apple pie. "
"Innocent as a lamb," I corrected.
"I mix metaphors. Sue me." Tegan took a bite of her burger. Sauce squirted out of the bun onto her lap. She wiped it off with a napkin.
"The doors were locked," I stated.
Noeline set her fork down with a clack. "I'm losing my appetite. This is why I don't like reading murder mysteries. I can't handle the gory details."
Tegan patted her mother's leg. "That's because you're a visceral reader. You read as if it's happening in real time. That's how I read, too."
"And yet," Noeline said, "you can digest those kinds of books with ease."
"I read all genres, Mother. I like to experience a range of emotions, not suppress them like you."
Noeline glowered at her daughter.
"I'm sorry," Tegan said. "That was rude of me. I . . ." She pressed her lips together.
"I forgive you. We're all tense."
Tegan turned to me. "What about Piper's alibi?"
"I spoke to her on the pretense of consoling her. She says she was at home alone, but there was something off about the way she said it."
"And do we know what Graham's alibi is?"
"No."
"I think we should go to his house," Tegan said, taking another bite of her burger. "And keep watch."
"Don't you dare," Noeline warned.
"Mom, we won't approach him. We won't even talk to him. But his neighbor Mrs. Harrigan said she saw someone suspicious hanging around more than a week ago. Maybe the killer is a person who lived near Auntie and staked out her house from across the street so they could follow her. C'mon, Allie, what do you say? "
Throughout our childhood, though Tegan was not an extrovert when it came to public speaking or taking charge of something as simple as a book club, she had been a sly scamp, able to talk me into all sorts of hijinks. Ride bikes to the mall on a busy street to buy éclairs. Jump off the top of the roof into a pile of leaves. Steal through a graveyard while whistling for ghosts.
I never said no.