CHAPTER 23

C HAPTER 23

"Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance." . . . In spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness.

—Charlotte Lucas, in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

W inston banged the conference room door as he exited. Tegan exhaled, set her teacup on its saucer, and sank into her chair. Chloe, Lillian, and I applauded.

"You were masterful," I said. "Brilliant."

"Your aunt would be so proud," Lillian said.

"Elizabeth Bennet too!" Chloe cried.

Tegan pressed her burning cheeks with her palms. "It was the dress. I felt Jane Austen's style of speaking churning inside me, and I couldn't stop them from popping out."

"Bravo!" I exclaimed.

When we were all sufficiently calm, I served up the trifle, and we dug in. Maybe it was the electric energy in the air, but I had to say it was one of the best I'd ever made.

At dusk, after changing into our regular clothes, packing up the dresses and bonnets Lillian provided, and taking dishes and leftovers to my van, I helped Chloe and Tegan close the shop, and we tallied up the day's receipts. Then I followed Tegan, who was rattled by Winston's appearance, to the Blue Lantern to make sure she arrived safely.

The lanterns hanging on the shepherd's hooks were all illuminated. The brass ones by the entry were, too. In the parlor, to the right, guests had gathered for the nightly wine tasting. Noeline wasn't in attendance. Helga was serving mini quiches laced with rosemary. I bit into one and hummed my approval. They were divine.

"Where's my mother?" Tegan asked, nabbing a second quiche.

"In her office," Helga said.

Tegan steered me to the room that was situated left of the kitchen and opened the door. Like the guest rooms, the office was decorated in white and blue with a lantern motif. The antique furniture pieces included a secretary's desk and chair, a bookshelf filled with hardcover classics, a pair of oak file cabinets, a large vintage floor safe, a beautiful blue brocade divan, and a pair of scroll-back side chairs. Noeline was bent over the desk, which was as messy as all get-out, with pens, pencils, receipts, and paperclips scattered hither and yon.

"What's going on, Mother?" Tegan asked. "Did a hurricane hit?"

"I've lost my keys."

I flashed on Marigold's wild search for hers a couple of weeks ago.

"I've rifled through every drawer in here." Noeline sounded as frantic as her sister had. "This is the only place I leave them, unless I'm on my way out. Then they're by my purse."

"I left mine in the laundry room last week," Tegan said.

"I don't do laundry," her mother snapped.

Tegan raised both hands in defense.

"I'm sorry, darling," Noeline said, her cheeks flushing as florid as her rose-colored sheath. "I simply don't misplace things. I don't. I'm a creature of habit. Losing things isn't normal for me. "

"Are these the same keys you said you left home last Saturday?" I asked.

"Yes. I haven't required them since then and forgot to look for them until now, but I need one to open the wine cabinet, and—"

"Helga doesn't have a set of keys?" Tegan asked.

"Not to the wine cabinet. It's not that I don't trust her. I do. With my life. The cabinet is a recent acquisition. I just never got around to making one for her." Noeline grunted in exasperation. "Shoot! I always place the keys in the top drawer of this desk. Helga said the last time she saw them, they were by my purse in the kitchen. Shoot!" She spanked the desktop.

Tegan said, "Let Allie and me help you look."

"I've searched everywhere!"

"Breathe, Mother." Tegan poured her a glass of water from the pitcher on the mahogany bar trolley. Noeline gladly accepted it.

For a good fifteen minutes, Tegan and I rummaged through the cushions of the divan and rifled through every file in the cabinets. Tegan removed and replaced book after book from the shelves. I got to my knees and searched under all the furniture.

When we'd exhausted every possibility, I said, "Let's go through the desk one more time." I told them about Marigold's quest.

Five minutes later, just as when I'd helped Marigold, I found a ring of keys stuffed into the rear corner of the topmost-right drawer of the desk. "Voilà!"

Noeline bounded to her feet and gripped them in her fist. "You're a magician."

"Sometimes things get jostled when opening and closing drawers." I reiterated what I'd said to Marigold about how many times I'd lost a measuring cup or cookie cutter in the far corner of a kitchen drawer .

Even though I was offering reassuring words, a nagging sensation tugged at the corners of my mind. Was it possible someone had moved Marigold's keys to make her question her sanity? Was that same person toying with Noeline? No, it didn't make sense. To what end?

"Do you keep a lot of cash on hand here, Noeline?" I asked.

"No. Most of our transactions are credit cards."

I eyed the vintage floor safe. To open it, one needed a combination, not a key. "Do you lock the office door when you leave?"

"Yes. Our records hold a lot of personal information. Why?"

Tegan gave me a questioning look.

"I was wondering if a thief might have taken your keys and made a copy so they could access the office."

Noeline gasped. "Heavens." She pressed a hand to her chest. "None of our lodgers has complained about being hacked."

"That's a relief," I said.

Dream Cuisine was robbed a year ago. No records were stolen, but my favorite stand mixer and an autographed first-edition cookbook were taken. For the longest time, I couldn't figure out who would've done it until it dawned on me that the cleaning crew I'd hired had worked for me on only one occasion before claiming they really weren't kitchen-type people. The police retrieved my items from them within a week.

"Mother, are you in here?" Vanna flounced into the office and caught the toe of her four-inch heel on the area rug. She stumbled forward, the hem of her flowing silk skirt snagging on the corner of the floor safe. "Oh, crap. Help me."

I ran to her rescue, telling her to stand still so she wouldn't tear the fabric. When I'd freed her, she adjusted her skirt and tugged the hem of her knit top down.

"Thank you, Allie. That was very kind of you."

Oh, my word. Had I heard correctly? She wasn't chiding me? "You're welcome. "

"Mother said she resolved things between you and me." Using a finger, Vanna daintily smoothed the right side of her hair, which was swept into a chignon. "I hope that's so."

"It is. No bad blood. All is forgiven."

For now. I wasn't gullible enough to believe Vanna would change her ways. She would verbally assail me at some point in the future. I'd be prepared.

"Are we dining together?" Vanna asked. "I heard Helga is serving her famous roast lamb."

"I'm heading home," I said. "I came over because Tegan—"

My pal knuckled me and shook her head sharply.

"Because Tegan wanted to show me the office. I've . . . been looking for a vintage floor safe for the longest time," I improvised, instantly wishing I could take the inane response back.

Vanna accepted my explanation. "Another time," she murmured.

"Evening, everyone." Rick strolled in and tossed his briefcase on the desk chair. The breeze the motion stirred up caused the loose paper items on the desk to scatter. "What a successful day I had." He sidled to Noeline and bussed her cheek.

She blushed. "Not in front of the girls."

"They're grown women." He chuckled. "Certainly, a little public display of affection is allowed. Now, ask me what made today a success."

Noeline smiled indulgently. "What made—"

"Rick," Tegan cut in. "I have a question for you first."

Uh-oh. I knew that tone. Winston had primed the pump. She was feeling her oats and gearing up for a fight. "Tegan," I cautioned.

She waved me off. "Rick."

"Fire away," he said, grinning at Noeline as if he couldn't wait to hear what her daughter wanted to ask .

"A friend of mine told me about the reading schedule for volunteers at the hospital." Tegan didn't identify Chloe. A friend was general enough. "They only read to kids in the afternoon. If I'm doing the math correctly, you couldn't have been reading to kids on Thursday and Friday nights."

The color drained from Rick's cheeks.

"Are you stepping out on my mother?" Tegan asked.

Noeline gasped. "Tegan, take it back!"

"No." Tegan folded her arms, not willing to budge an inch. She reminded me of a moody teen. I was pretty sure Noeline had seen the defiant pose before.

Rick gave Noeline a sorrowful look and shoved his hands into his pockets. "You're right, Tegan. I was not reading to children. I was covering my sorry behind because I was browsing properties and didn't want your mother to know. As I revealed to you and Allie confidentially the other day when I picked up the books you'd set aside, I want to settle here. I had a full slate of houses to see, so I went house hunting those nights." He eyed Noeline. "I didn't want to tell you my plans, sweetheart, until I made a firm decision."

She reached for his hand and squeezed. "I'm so excited. You're moving here? For good?"

"Were you doing that a week ago Saturday, too?" Tegan raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Rick gave the type of indulgent smile an adult might give a petulant child. "Yes. Curb appeal matters to me. I told my Realtor I wanted to tour the first set of homes we'd looked at on my own. In the daylight. That way, I could rule things out. Here are the addresses I viewed, if it matters."

He opened the Notes app on his cell phone and flashed the screen at Tegan. I peered over her shoulder. Indeed, there was a list of over twenty addresses. One was on my street.

Conflict deflected, Tegan convinced me to stay for dinner, and I was glad I did. Helga's roast lamb was as good as Vanna had promised. Served with a savory rosemary au jus, I could cut it with a fork, and each bite melted in my mouth. The garlic mashed potatoes were a perfect accompaniment. Dessert was a knockout triple-chocolate trifle that Helga proudly said she'd concocted with premade brownies, pudding, and crushed candy bars.

During dinner, Rick regaled us with stories about the houses he liked. He was partial to a Craftsman he'd viewed in Montford, not far from the inn. Noeline knew the area. She said he couldn't go wrong with that choice. Throughout dinner, she leaned into him, her shoulder brushing his. Occasionally he swept a stray hair off her face and pecked her cheek.

When leaving the inn, stuffed to the gills and not having the energy to venture to Dream Cuisine to bake, I decided I could make all the scones and cupcakes I needed for the morning's deliveries at home. Darcy zipped to me the moment I entered, his tail lifted in distinct displeasure.

"Sorry," I said. "If you could read a text message, I would've clued you in as to my whereabouts." I petted his ears. He meowed, his eyes blazing with curiosity. "No, I wasn't investigating anything. I was with my friend's family. It was nice to see them enjoying one another in the wake of all the sorrow."

Even Vanna had contributed to the conversation. At first, her stories had been about her challenging clients, but upon hearing the address of a house on Rick's list, she warned him to steer clear. The house was owned by a woman who claimed there might be ghosts in it. Rick pooh-poohed her. Noeline ribbed him, telling him he should believe, because she'd had an encounter.

While I mixed my batters, I resumed listening to my audiobook recording of The Sign of the Four. By the time I got to Sherlock donning a disguise to track down the Aurora launch, all the prep work was done. I would awake early to bake everything. Yawning, I clicked off the story and dragged myself into bed.

At four a.m., I rose, pulled on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved blue Henley shirt, and started baking and icing.

At six, I received a text message from Tegan. Chloe wanted our two cents about the decorations for the memorial. The printer could have them done by Friday, but only if we delivered our decisions today, Monday.

After agreeing to swing by, I decided it might be a long day and Darcy should accompany me. He would do well at the bookshop, and as long as I put his kitty crate on the floor in front of the passenger seat, so none of his hair would contaminate my wares, I could take him on all my deliveries.

I swapped out my now-covered-in-flour Henley for a white blouse, spruced up my hair and makeup, and hurried to the van. It took no time at all to tootle around town. Tourists didn't come out in droves on Mondays, and many businesses had gone to a four-day workweek, with Mondays as the day to work remotely, if possible. I delivered five dozen cupcakes to Perfect Brew, two dozen scones to Ragamuffin, three cheese-filled coffee cakes to Big Mama's Diner, and an extra-large chocolate fudge cake to Legal Eagles. It was the boss's birthday.

When I arrived at Feast for the Eyes, some school-aged kids, all under the age of seven, were roaming the children's aisle with their mother, and a pair of teenaged boys were studying the YA literature. One was holding the latest Neil Gaiman novel.

"We've been busier than all get-out with kids and teens today," Tegan said. "It's a town-wide teacher conference day so educators can meet with parents, one on one." She took Darcy's kitty crate from me, pressed her nose to the window on the crate, and cooed hello. She led me to the office and switched on the overhead lights. They flickered. " Grr. That's been going on all morning. I'll need to hire an electrician." She placed Darcy's crate on the desk and twisted the rod for the blinds to provide a view of the main shop. "Darcy, will you be a good boy and stay in here? I don't want any complaints from those who might not be cat people." He meowed his assent, and Tegan beamed. "I knew you'd get it, you handsome boy." She released him, and he leaped to the top of the bookshelf abutting the far wall and instantly curled into a ball for a snooze.

I removed a bowl from the crate and filled it with water. While setting it at the foot of the bookshelf, I remembered the female officer at the crime scene putting the teacup into a glass container. Had the killer laced the tea with poison? Was that how Zach had figured out tetrahydrozoline had been used, or had the coroner deduced it by testing the contents of Marigold's stomach? The teacup had looked full, so I didn't think Marigold had drunk any of the liquid, but possibly the poison was so lethal one sip would have killed her. My insides ached at the notion of how she must have suffered.

I rejoined Tegan in the main shop. She was poring over a list of quotes Chloe had gleaned from Pride and Prejudice.

"I like this one," Tegan said. She showed us the selection: "Do you prefer reading books to cards?" said he; "that is rather singular."

Chloe laughed. "Good one, Tegan. Marigold would agree wholeheartedly with the sentiment."

"And this one," Tegan said. She pointed at: "Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast."

I nodded. "Truer words were never said."

"Here's one Vanna might enjoy," Tegan said, giggling. She motioned to: "Nobody can tell what I suffer! But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied."

Chloe cackled.

So did I but instantly felt bad about it. "Tegan, we can't hang that one."

"Auntie would have found it amusing."

"Okay," I said, "but let's put it in an aisle Vanna won't browse."

Tegan fanned a hand. "We're safe. She won't peruse any books other than cookbooks."

For the next half hour, we selected another dozen quotes. Chloe marked them off to take to the printer. Then we decided on the artwork—still images from the Pride and Prejudice series—that Chloe had downloaded from the computer and had printed in black-and-white samples.

"They're publicity photos," she said. "No rights required. Besides, we're not selling them. We're purely using them for decoration."

"Fitzwilliam Darcy is dreamy, isn't he?" Tegan sighed, putting a checkmark on six of the images Chloe had downloaded. "I like these. Let's have the printer make sixteen-by-twenty posters."

Chloe collected them into a file folder and set off on her task.

"Tegan," I said, "speaking of Fitzwilliam Darcy, I haven't heard diddly from that detective agency."

"Maybe Auntie didn't follow through with them?"

"But she had with Oly Olsen, as I told you."

"What if . . ." Tegan spun around. "What if the police haven't solved Auntie's murder by Saturday? It will cast a pall over the proceedings."

"A memorial is already sad, my friend. There's nothing we can do about that." I petted her shoulder. "But we'll do our best to make it a celebration of your aunt's life, even if there isn't closure. We'll tell stories about how she started the bookshop and how she donated her time and energy to worthy causes."

She rounded the counter and sank onto the ladder-back chair. I sat in the one beside her. "If Graham didn't kill her, and Piper didn't do it—"

"Katrina is my bet."

"But she has an alibi."

"Not confirmed yet. I wish we knew who might be savvy about poisons."

"Poisons?" She arched an eyebrow.

I wanted to kick myself. Until now, I'd kept my promise to Zach and hadn't told my best friend I knew the method of murder.

"Auntie was poisoned? With what?"

"A decongestant that comes in nasal sprays and eye drop forms and might have been administered in the bottle of water or cup of tea the police took for evidence."

"Was that why you were asking about which of our customers might be doctors or scientists?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Did you know that Evelyn Evers was a doctor?"

"Yes."

"A doctor would know about poisons."

"She has a solid alibi. An actress friend of Lillian's confirmed it."

"What if the poison was, indeed, in the water bottle, and Evelyn gave that bottle to Auntie on Friday? You heard Auntie when you chided her. She said others had warned her to hydrate, too. I'd bet dimes to dollars Evelyn did."

Oh, my! Tegan was spot-on. The killer, learning Marigold was seriously into hydrating herself since the fainting incident, could have dosed the water the prior day, which would mean all alibis regarding Saturday were null and void.

I was about to text Zach the theory when the front door opened. To my surprise, Katrina, clad in a sunny yellow dress, sandals, and bright colorful jewelry, stepped inside. Her floral purse was slung over one shoulder. She held a key chain in one hand. Her hair was hanging in soft curls over her shoulders. The whole look screamed Spring has sprung ! but she didn't seem cheery. In fact, her mouth was downturned, her gaze grim.

In barely a whisper, she said, "I lied."