Pressing the Issue Read online

  “Like she’d call me.”

  “She might.”

  “When the ocean freezes over.” I didn’t mention my suspicions about Dolly or Hannah to my pal. I wanted her to remain as upbeat and worry-free as possible. “Do you want me to put in a call to another winery to see if we can relocate the wedding?”

  “Who would say yes?” She shook her head, her sadness sneaking back in. “I can’t see it happening on short notice, can you? I think Tito and I will have to postpone until next year.”

  “But you can’t! Tito will have a conniption fit.”

  “I’ll buy him a scratching post. Go! Get sustenance.” She flaunted the remaining bite of her goodie in my face. “Wait, I’m coming with you.” She poked her head into the shop. “Tina, can you manage? When I get back, you can take your break.”

  Tina waved. “Sure.”

  “I love that girl,” Bailey said to me as we hurried to the Nook and veered left into the kitchen. “She told me her private cooking classes with Katie are going great. You know, if Katie had the wherewithal, she would open up her own culinary institute.”

  “I hope she doesn’t. What would I do without her?” I cut my friend a sideways look. “That was selfish of me, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but understandable.”

  We entered the café’s kitchen and halted by the rectangular oak table fitted with an L-shaped bench, more commonly known as the chef’s table. Occasionally Katie would serve private dinners for four to six people there.

  “Okay to enter, Chef?” I asked.

  Katie beckoned us inside. She was making more sin-in-a-cup goodies and working alongside her sous chef, a handsome thirty-year-old with a distinctive silver streak in his dark hair, who was whipping together batches of meat-based pasties.

  “Must have chocolate,” I said to Katie. She handed me a mini dessert set in a red-striped paper candy cup. I bit into it and moaned my delight.

  “Glad you like it.” Katie rested her palms on the countertop and blew a loose strand of hair off her forehead. “I’m only serving them here at the café. It’s too hard to keep them frozen at the fair. They’re selling like crazy. Three to a dessert plate. Keller came up with the idea.” Her voice caught. “Aw, heck. Keller . . .”

  “What about him?”

  “He hinted . . .” She didn’t finish.

  “Go on.”

  “He was talking about Nick. He hinted he might not have been such a great guy.”

  “What do you mean?” Bailey asked. “He was as nice as they come.”

  I slid onto the bench at the chef’s table.

  Bailey joined me. “What did Keller say exactly?”

  “Reynaldo, take ten,” Katie ordered her sous chef.

  “Sure, boss.”

  Katie placed two more sin-in-a-cup goodies and a pair of napkins on the chef’s table and sat down with us. She folded her hands on the table and leaned forward. “Keller stopped by this morning, hence the new creation”—she motioned to our delicious desserts—“and he let on that he heard Nick arguing with Hannah Storm the other day.”

  I gawked. “They had another clash?”

  Katie’s eyes widened. “They had a first?”

  I nodded. “Where did this one take place?”

  “Right near Keller’s mother’s shop.”

  Keller’s mom owned Taste of Heaven Ice Cream Parlor, a charming place on Buena Vista Boulevard. That was where Keller, as a teen, became an ice cream maker.

  “Did he hear what they were quarreling about?” I asked.

  “How could he not? It was a full-blown row. Hannah was claiming a problem with water rights. Nick was denying any hanky-panky. When the shouting settled to a dull roar, she asked if she could buy Nick out. He would have none of it, so they went at it again. Tooth and nail—Keller’s words.”

  I wondered if water rights were the essence of the spat Sean had listened in on. He mentioned hearing the word water. Hannah had said You owe me. Why? Had Nick reneged on a deal to sell his property or water rights to her?

  “Keller didn’t want to mention it to anyone because he likes Hannah a lot, and so do I, but I told him he had to go to the police.”

  “Has he?”

  “I believe so.”

  Then Cinnamon already knew about Hannah’s set-to with Nick. Good. It wasn’t my responsibility to inform her. Once she started grilling Hannah, she’d find out about the other altercation.

  I bit into my frozen treat and hummed my appreciation.

  “Jenna, what are you thinking?” Bailey asked.

  I told them about the first disagreement. I added that I’d seen Hannah attacking the ground with the shovel between her property and the Baldinis’. “I was wondering whether she visited Nick later that day and whether they went at it a third time. Maybe things got out of hand.”

  Katie twirled a napkin on the table. “Killing him would have resolved the water rights issue.”

  “Would it have?” I asked. “Nick’s death might put his estate and any possibility of divesting property on hold.” I bit into my second dessert. The frozen raspberry in the middle added just the right pizzazz.

  “I think she killed him,” Bailey said.

  “Not so fast,” I said. “Until now, you thought Alan did. And just because Hannah argued with Nick doesn’t mean she killed him, even if I did find her bead on the verandah.”

  “It was her bead?” Bailey said.

  “According to Dolly, Hannah made a necklace of them.”

  “What bead?” Katie asked.

  While explaining, I showed them the evidence on my cell phone. “However, it was a single bead on the patio, not an entire necklace.”

  “What if Hannah went to confront Nick? What if they struggled and the necklace broke?” Bailey pushed her ice cream treat away and tapped the table with her fingernail. “The bead puts her at the scene of the crime.”

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “It’s possible that Alan’s crow brought the bead from Hannah’s property, and she never set foot there at all.” I didn’t add my suspicion that Dolly could have planted it there. Why spread a rumor? We needed more facts.

  “Who overheard the other disagreement?” Katie asked.

  “Sean Beaufort.”

  “Isn’t he the husband of the woman who makes pottery?” Bailey asked.

  “Yes, he is,” Katie said. “Melody is a darling woman.”

  “You know them?” Bailey swung her gaze in Katie’s direction.

  “I’ve met all the vendors at the fair. We share sales secrets and tell tales about quirky customers. It’s tradition.”

  Bailey pouted. “Why am I not up to speed?”

  I patted her hand. “Because you haven’t gone back since you received Nick’s call.”

  “Well, I’m tired of being out of the loop. I’m convinced Hannah killed Nick, so I’m contacting Cinnamon.” She leaped to stand.

  I grasped her by the wrist. “Whoa, nelly! Why are you determined to see Hannah arrested? You like her. I’ve seen the two of you poring over cookbooks and savoring the recipes. And laughing. Not to mention you enjoy her wine.”

  “Because . . . I don’t know.” Bailey wrenched free. “Because lately she’s become more sullen.”

  Katie said, “Maybe taking care of her grandmother and the vineyard has become too much for her.”

  “Exactly. When Nick took her on, she snapped.” Bailey flicked her fingers.

  “C’mon,” I said. “Hannah is no pushover. She comes from solid stock like you and me. We don’t snap for no reason.”

  “Maybe she’s restless,” Bailey reasoned.

  “Maybe the vineyard’s losing money,” Katie suggested.

  I said, “If that’s the case, why would she want to buy Nick’s? Wouldn’t she rather sell hers to him? I’ll bet he would have been eager to own both properties. He had friends in high places. He could have arranged a loan.”

  Katie returned to the pastry station, hoisted a pastry tube, and sta
rted squirting the cheesecake concoction into the chocolate-lined ice cube trays. “I know Hannah pretty well. I was friends with her brother, Hugh.”

  “You were?” I joined her and eyed the melted chocolate. How I wished I could dip my finger in the bowl. “When? He must be eight years older than you.”

  “Six. And don’t look at me like that. We weren’t an item.” She shimmied her shoulders. “We were in a cooking club. He’s a chef now in Paris.”

  “So I heard,” I said. “I also learned that he left the wine business because he was allergic to grapes.”

  “That and he’s a teetotaler. He doesn’t drink alcohol.”

  Bailey pursed her lips. “Why is someone who abstains referred to as a teetotaler? The word doesn’t start with T-E-A.”

  Katie snorted. “There are a few answers for that. I like the one that claims the letter T starts the word totaler, and like the phrase to a T, the letter emphasizes how strongly one abstains, but it’s spelled with the lowercase tee. However, another tale asserts that certain advocates would make followers who pledged total abstinence sign with a capital T.”

  Bailey knuckled Katie’s arm. “You’re a history geek.”

  Katie roared. “And proud of it.” She pressed fresh raspberries into the ice cube trays and topped them with more of the cheesecake mixture.

  “Back to Hugh.” Bailey patted her thigh impatiently. “Is it possible he sneaked into town and took up arms against Nick on behalf of his sister?”

  “Hugh will never come back to Crystal Cove,” Katie said. “Not until his grandmother kicks the bucket. They had a huge falling out when he didn’t enter the business. She is a vindictive woman.” She drizzled melted chocolate over the remaining sin-in-a-cup cubes and popped the tray into the freezer. “I’m telling you, Hannah didn’t do this. I feel it in my gut.”

  Chapter 9

  Despite Katie’s gut feelings, Bailey was convinced that she had to contact Cinnamon and bring her up to date. No matter how hard I tried to dissuade her, I couldn’t stop her. She dashed out of the café and across the parking lot toward the street.

  I raced into the shop and asked Tina if she was managing all right. She was. I assigned her two duties: to set out tomorrow’s children’s art project in the corner featuring watercolor art sprinkled with salt and to make sure Tigger was okay.

  She said, “Can I put him in a timeout if he shreds anything? What is going on with him?”

  “Teenage hormones maybe?” I quipped. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I’ll put in a call to our veterinarian soon. In the meantime, yes, if you can corral him, you can put him in timeout. However, use the phrase uh-uh as a warning. I’m not into saying ‘Bad kitty.’”

  “You’ve got it.”

  I promised her an early end to the day, which delighted her, and chased after Bailey.

  Though I was typically faster than her, the cumbersome Maid Marian costume slowed me down. The folds were catching around my calves. I didn’t want to lose my new wreath, either. Aunt Vera may have anchored it to my head, but a hatpin or two wouldn’t hold very well in a foot race. I caught up to my pal as she was bustling north on Buena Vista.

  “Where are you headed?” I shouted.

  “It’s three o’clock, which means Cinnamon will be having iced coffee at Latte Luck Café.” Cinnamon had once confided to us that she visited the easygoing place daily to pick up the local gossip. “She is as predictable as a grandfather clock.”

  I lurched into the café right after Bailey. As anticipated, Cinnamon was sitting at her usual table. On the nearby wall hung a sepia-toned picture of the Theater on the Pier. Similar pictures of Crystal Cove in the 1920s graced all the walls. Cinnamon was sipping her usual drink through a straw. The glass was frosty, so she must have recently taken her seat. To my surprise, Katie’s boyfriend, Keller, was at the table with her. Pushing six and a half feet, he’d had to fold himself into the bistro-style chair. A thatch of unruly brown hair hung down his forehead. His eyes were focused on Cinnamon and pinched with concentration.

  Not one to stand on ceremony, Bailey marched between the wooden tables, pulled out an empty chair at Cinnamon’s, and sat. Cinnamon, who had the patience of Job when it came to some things, did not take kindly to the intrusion. She peered down her nose at my intrepid pal. Bailey didn’t flinch. She waved for me to join them. I hovered nearby.

  “Hey-hey, Jenna and Bailey,” Keller said, his serious demeanor lightening a tad.

  I nodded a greeting.

  Cinnamon blew out an exasperated breath. The air flipped up her bangs. She finger-combed them into place. “Sit, Jenna. No one likes the old saying Three is a crowd.” She stared pointedly at Bailey and back at me. “Nice outfit, by the way. Maid Marian?”

  “Good guess.”

  “I have insider knowledge.” She winked. “Okay, everyone, you’ll all take turns. I imagine you have something to share, Bailey?”

  “I do,” Bailey said.

  “After he speaks, it’ll be your turn.” Cinnamon refocused on Katie’s fiancé.

  “So like I was telling you . . .” Keller reiterated what Katie had told us at the Nook about Nick and Hannah arguing over water rights issues, and Hannah offering to buy out Nick.

  Cinnamon leaned forward on her elbows. “But no threats were exchanged.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “No, ‘I’ll kill you if you don’t agree.’”

  Keller offered a toothy grin. “That only happens in the movies, doesn’t it?”

  “Did either of them touch the other?” Cinnamon asked. “Was there any physical contact?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Got anything more to add?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Cinnamon leveled her gaze at Bailey. “Your turn.”

  Bailey blushed, obviously realizing her account was actually my account. “Jenna can tell it better.”

  I filled Cinnamon in on seeing Hannah at the bottom of the hill on the day Nick died. I recounted how Sean Beaufort had heard Nick and Hannah bickering. To him, it sounded like the same topic of dissent: water. “Sean heard Hannah say, ‘You owe me,’ and Nick countered with, ‘Do not.’ According to Sean, they split up after that. Has he reached out to you?”

  “He’s coming to the precinct later to file a report.”

  Why not immediately? I wanted to ask but knew better. Like every other vendor at the fair, he couldn’t afford to lose business by being absent.

  Keller said, “I heard Hurricane Vineyards is undergoing some financial strain.”

  “Who’d you hear that from, Mr. Landry?” Cinnamon asked.

  “One of my customers. I can’t remember who. It was yesterday. I was on the Pier. Let me think.” He tapped his forehead between his eyebrows. “Aha. I remember. Old Jake. He bought a double scoop of coffee crunch. He had just purchased one of those foot-press thingies from Hannah’s booth, and we got to talking.”

  I flinched. Cinnamon did, too. One of those thingies was the murder weapon.

  “Why would Jake know about Hannah’s or Nick’s business?” Cinnamon asked.

  Old Jake saved my father’s life years ago; in return, my father taught him to invest. No one is quite sure when Jake arrived in Crystal Cove. Back then, he was a drifter. Now, although he may be the wealthiest man in town, he still loves to drive a tractor fitted with a huge rake and clean up the beaches each morning.

  “Jake knows everyone’s business,” Keller said. “He’s sort of like you. He goes to coffee shops and listens and learns.”

  Cinnamon shifted in her chair, clearly uncomfortable that everyone knew her routine.

  “Water rights are important when it comes to running a vineyard,” I said.

  “I agree.” Bailey jabbed a thumb in my direction. “Which makes Hannah a main suspect.”

  I threw her a withering look and said to Cinnamon, “I didn’t notice a stream or anything on Nick’s property, but maybe there’s an underground source of water he tapped into, and Hannah
believed it belonged to her family. That might explain why she said, ‘You owe me.’”

  “Do you think Nick was that inscrutable?” Cinnamon said.

  “I’d like to think he wasn’t”—I leaned back in my chair—“but I told you about Hannah digging by their property lines. Maybe she was looking for proof that Nick was siphoning off water.”

  “Excuse me.” Keller cleared his throat. “A thought just dawned on me. She offered to buy Nick out. How could she do that if Hurricane Vineyards is under financial strain?”

  Cinnamon frowned. “All of this sounds like a gossip mill gone amok.”

  “Nick wouldn’t sell,” Bailey insisted. “I’m sure of it. You said so yourself, Jenna. That vineyard has been in his family for generations.”

  “Okay,” Cinnamon thwacked the table. “I’ll look into Hannah Storm, but I’ve got to tell you, I’ve known her for years, and I hold her in high regard.”

  “You know her brother Hugh, too, I hear.” I cocked my head, ready to glean more.

  “We dated for a nanosecond,” Cinnamon said. “He had a huge chip on his shoulder in high school.”

  “So did you.”

  “Two blockheads don’t make a tree,” Cinnamon said.

  In her teens, she had run with the wrong crowd. My father, at my mother’s insistence, befriended her. At the time, he was participating in a Big Brother program. He took her under his wing and helped her focus on the future. After college, she considered going into social service work in San Francisco to help girls like herself, but then Pepper got sick, and Cinnamon moved home. The rest was history.

  Cinnamon said, “For Hugh, discovering his love of cooking helped him get straight, but he didn’t want anything to do with the vineyard. The pressure was intense from his grandmother to get in line, but he refused. Now, the bitter old woman exerts enormous influence on Hannah. Somebody has to keep the vineyard running.”

  “Could the grandmother have killed Nick?” I asked.

  Cinnamon shook her head. “She has severe osteoporosis. I’d rule her out.”

  Bailey leaned forward, her gaze riveted on Cinnamon. If I knew my friend—and I did—she was intent on proving her theory. “What if she talked Hannah into doing the deed? Hannah was at Baldini Vineyards—on the verandah. Jenna has proof. Show her.”