Pressing the Issue Page 11

  Cinnamon gave me the evil eye.

  My cheeks warmed as I pulled my cell phone from my purse. “Chief,” I began, “before you arrived, I spotted a bead on the verandah. I took a picture of it. I was going to pick it up but a crow—Alan’s crow, I think—swooped in and flew off with it.” I swiped the cell phone screen and pressed the appropriate buttons until the image materialized. “I checked with Dolly Ledoux, who told me she’d sold a stash of these beads to Hannah to make a necklace. Hannah was the only person to buy them.”

  Cinnamon inhaled and let out a long, exasperated breath. “My deputy informed me that you were looking into things.”

  “Not intentionally.” I spread my hands. “I was there. At the vineyard. That night. I was observant. And then when I was buying a wreath at Thistle Thy Fancy—”

  “She’s always attentive to detail, Chief,” Bailey said in my defense. “It’s one of her best traits. That’s why she soared in her position at Taylor & Squibb.”

  “I’ve heard enough.” Cinnamon held up a hand. “Keep clear of this, Jenna.”

  “Sure, but if I learn something, you want me to tell you, right? Nick was my friend.”

  “And mine,” Bailey said.

  “And my aunt knew his family well. I can’t believe . . .” I felt a hard yank on my heart. Another person I knew was dead. Murdered. Without warning, my thoughts flew to my deceased husband, David, and my friend Desiree and my therapist, Dr. Thornton. How many more of my friends and family would suffer in the years to come? Hopefully not like this. Never again like this. I pushed the morbid notion aside. “Nick was a good member of the community, Chief. Whether he had a gripe with all these people or not, he deserves justice.”

  Cinnamon polished off her iced coffee with a slurp.

  “What about Nick’s brother, Alan?” I asked. “Did you pin him down on his alibi?”

  “I did.”

  “Where was he? Why did his bird fly to the verandah and squawk? I told you we heard the bird, right?”

  “You did.” She pushed her glass aside. “Alan was pranking his brother.”

  “Pranking?” I raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? He’s in his thirties, for Pete’s sake.”

  “He was lacing a well on the property with frogs.”

  “Frogs?”

  Cinnamon’s mouth twitched ever so slightly. “He said Nick would go bonkers when he discovered the frogs because Nick mistakenly believed the frogs would contaminate the water, and therefore harm the wine-making process.”

  I glanced at Bailey, who frowned, not believing a word of it. I continued. “Could this have been the water issue Nick and Hannah were discussing?”

  “I doubt it. A prank like that is not important enough to kill over.”

  “Did anyone see Alan carrying out the deed?” I asked.

  “Not that I know of, but my people did find frogs. Dozens of frogs.”

  A bell jingled over the front door as my father entered the café or, rather, swept inside, the purple cape of his apothecary costume flowing behind him. “Good day, daughter,” he bellowed as if he were onstage. He made a beeline for me. “I have come for a libation.”

  For most of my life, I had feared my father. A former FBI man, he could be cryptic and a tad icy. No more. Now he was warm and jovial and appreciating life. My mother’s death had taken his spirit; his relationship with Lola had boosted it tenfold.

  My father was strikingly handsome, in an aging silver fox way, which prompted many of the women patrons to watch him stride across the café. He—typical Dad—was oblivious. He greeted the others at our table.

  Cinnamon said, “Looking dapper, Cary.”

  He blew a kiss to Bailey. “How is the fair maiden who dost marry in a week?”

  Bailey shrank in her chair.

  I put a comforting hand on her shoulder and swallowed hard. “Dad, didn’t Lola tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Haven’t you listened to the news or picked up a newspaper?”

  “What’s going on?” He dropped the accent and bravado. “I was in the city yesterday on business. I just got back to town an hour ago and am stopping in to get a coffee before meeting Lola on the Pier.”

  After retiring from the Bureau, Dad bought a hardware store. It was small but serviceable. What business could he have been conducting in San Francisco? He didn’t need to purchase a second store. Maybe he’d met someone from Habitat for Humanity. He donated a lot of time to the organization. I pushed the distracting notion aside and quickly told him what had happened to Nick and how Bailey’s wedding was in limbo.

  He blanched. “I had no clue, Bailey. Your mother obviously wanted to speak to me in person and didn’t want to leave the news on a voice mail.” He pecked her on the cheek. “My poor girl. If you need to chat, I’m available, but right now I should go to your mother. You seem to have plenty of support.”

  Bailey agreed.

  As he made his exit, gathering his apothecary cape so it wouldn’t catch on the door, a series of words scudded through my mind. Apothecary—druggist—drugs. I flashed on the Post-it notes on Nick’s computer, and turned to Cinnamon. “Chief, one more thing. Nick affixed a bunch of Post-it notes to his computer. One said Get MEDS. Do you know what medications he was taking?”

  “He didn’t die of an overdose, Jenna.”

  “I know, but given his irritable behavior over the past few days, maybe his blood pressure was high or his heart was bad. There was a heart symbol—”

  “I saw the notes,” Cinnamon said. “And we talked to his physician. He wasn’t on any medications. He was a health nut. No sugar. No GMOs.”

  “Maybe the meds were for Alan, then. After his accident—”

  “That’s it. We’re through here.” Cinnamon pushed away from the table. The feet of her chair screeched on the floor.

  “Did you know Nick and Dolly broke up?” Bailey blurted. “Do you have suspects of your own? Do you—”

  “Miss Bird,” Cinnamon said sternly, no longer referring to Bailey by her first name. Friendship was off the table. “I’ve questioned Mr. Baldini’s business associates and learned of any outstanding debts, and I’ve talked with people involved with the fair. Believe me, I’m doing my due diligence. Gossip does not solve a crime, got me?” She addressed Keller. “Mr. Landry, thank you for your information. As for you two”—she waggled a finger between Bailey and me—“steer clear. I’m warning you.” She shot a snide look at me.

  I waited until she departed before mimicking the look.

  Chapter 10

  When Bailey and I returned to the Cookbook Nook, I gave Tina the rest of the day off, as promised.

  “Really?” she exclaimed. “I mean, no lie? I’m over the moon. I used to go to the Renaissance Fair every year with my . . .” She chewed her lower lip.

  With her uncle, I guessed. I knew how much she missed him. Nearly every day she wrote to him.

  “I haven’t had time to visit the Pier yet.” Tina did a turn and flapped her costume’s apron. “Do I look all right?” In fair-speak, she added, “Pray, tell me the truth. Utter no lies.”

  “You look adorable,” I said.

  She knitted her brow. “Adorable ’tisn’t the word I seek.”

  “How about saucy?”

  “Yes. Saucy and sassy.” She did another twirl.

  I laughed. “Are you meeting up with someone? A beau?”

  “He’s not a beau yet, although I have my hopes up. He delivers love sonnets.”

  Aha. The gawky messenger in the Shakespearean outfit.

  “But even if he’s not around, I cannot wait to spy some swordplay.” She did a parry and counter-parry. “Avast, lads, ye are no match for me.” She giggled. “Plus, I absolutely must tear into a roasted turkey leg.”

  “Go on,” I said. “Skedaddle. Have a great time.”

  She slung on a cross-body purse and hurried out.

  Bailey said, “What I wouldn’t give to have that kind of energy.”
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  “You usually do. You’re still stewing about Cinnamon’s dismissal.”

  “How well you know me.”

  I stroked her shoulder. “We need to get this shop in order.” With all the sales and foot traffic, I needed to tidy bookshelves. I slipped into the storage room and queued up “A Fairy’s Love Song,” which was a solo by an enchanting harpist. The effect was calming. Perfect. When I emerged, I said to Bailey, “You take the sales counter and slap on a smile.” She liked to chat with customers and loved the sound of the register’s cha-ching. “Also, while there’s a lull, why don’t you search for another wedding venue? See if Nature’s Retreat is available,” I suggested. “Chef Guy might have some persuasion there.”

  “Chef Guy.” Her eyes grew misty. “Nick had such delicious suggestions for what the chef would cook for the wedding. I suppose I should ask for the menu from Alan at some point.” She sidled behind the counter and straightened the free bookmarks that we offered. “Say, do you think Alan would consider letting me still have the wedding at Baldini Vineyards?”

  “Would you want to?”

  “No, I guess not. Who needs to start a marriage surrounded by bad vibes, right?” She pressed her lips together and popped them open with a smack. “But maybe. I mean, it’s such a beautiful place. I’ve been dreaming about the event every night. Nick would want me to have it there, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, me, either. I’m so conflicted.”

  Tigger trailed me for the first few minutes as I moved from bookshelf to bookshelf, reorganizing books by theme and author. It never ceased to amaze me how often customers pulled a book out of a slot and replaced it in a completely different slot.

  When I ambled to the front of the shop, Tigger retired to the children’s area at the rear of the shop. Seeing as there were no kids or customers nearby—he loved company—he curled into a ball and instantly fell asleep. Had Tina given him some kind of chill pill? I’d forgotten to ask if he’d acted up while I was gone. Did that make me a bad cat mommy? I made a mental note to contact the veterinarian before the end of the day and set to work.

  Regularly I put books that were related to the week’s theme on the specialty tables. One of my favorites in the current mix was The Medieval Kitchen, which had colorful illustrations and useful tips for cooks who intended to reproduce feudal meals within a historical framework.

  In addition, I had drummed up a number of nonfiction accounts about the Renaissance Fair. The one that most of our customers were drawn to was Well Met: Renaissance Faires and the American Counterculture. The book spelled out when the idea for the fair came about and how it had matured.

  Then, of course, there were the fiction books that appealed to me. I featured Cloche and Dagger: A Hat Mystery and A Killer Ball at Honeychurch Hall because both were set in England. I added Spells and Scones: A Magical Bakery Mystery for the obvious reason—it featured scones. All three were mysteries.

  As I placed them on the table so buyers could see the lovely cover art, I contemplated our current Crystal Cove mystery: who killed Nick Baldini and why? I didn’t want to suspect Hannah, Alan, or Dolly, but who else was there? Granted, Cinnamon said—

  Cinnamon. I moaned softly. She would hate that I was trying to work the issue. How could I not? Wasn’t it my citizenly duty to help the police solve the crime so Bailey and my aunt, and the rest of Crystal Cove, could find peace?

  Who had Cinnamon contacted so far? She said she had been in touch with Nick’s business partners. Did she mean vendors, bottlers, and white oak barrel suppliers? How about those that provided the vineyard with new vines? Or his foreman and the men and women that worked the land? There were so many people involved in keeping a vineyard up and running. Had she questioned the people connected to the fair? Each year, the mayor and Nick had worked in tandem to get the fair up and running. There were stalls and stages to erect and barkers and musicians to hire. If Nick really was more volatile than any of us knew, maybe he had come to blows with one or more of them.

  I didn’t ignore what Flora had said about Nick arguing with Melody Beaufort, either. Had they been playacting or fighting? I had asked the mayor about Melody’s history, but I hadn’t inquired whether squabbling was part and parcel of their fair repertoire. I dialed Z.Z. but reached her voice mail. Quickly, I left a message saying that I’d like to talk when she had time.

  If Melody hadn’t met Nick until recently, I couldn’t imagine her having a reason to want him dead. Why didn’t she have a social media footprint? In her line of business, even creating something as simple as a Pinterest or Instagram page, like artists did to display pictures of their art, seemed vital. Maybe Rhett and I should take a pottery class, as he suggested, so I could learn more about her.

  Can it, Jenna. Cinnamon has it covered.

  Sufficiently chided—for now—I straightened the shop for another fifteen minutes and then said to Bailey, “I’m grabbing something cool to drink at the Nook. Want anything?”

  She waved me off, too busy handling three customers, all of whom were purchasing a stack of books and gift items. I was happy to see how much better she seemed. Her eyes glistened with energy, and her gift of gab was effortless. Work, my father often reminded me, is good for the soul.

  As I entered the Nook, I spotted Pepper and Flora sitting at a table for four near the plate glass window with a view of the ocean. Both were wearing identical pink-beaded tops. Each was enjoying a tumbler of a sparkling liquid with wedges of lime.

  I slipped up to them and said hello.

  Flora patted the seat of a bistro-style chair. “Join us.”

  “Just for a minute.” As I sat, my skirt, thanks to friction, tangled with the hem of the white tablecloth. I smoothed both and settled back in the chair. “I have to return to work in a sec. What are you drinking?”

  “Pellegrino. So refreshing.”

  “Looks good.”

  A brunette waitress heard me say so and said, “I’ll bring you one in a sec, Jenna.”

  “In a to-go cup,” I added.

  “Jenna”—Flora toyed with the crystal vase that held a single white rose—“I heard you beat me to it.”

  “To what?”

  “Telling the police about Nick and Melody Beaufort’s spat.”

  “How did you hear?”

  “I informed her,” Pepper said. “My daughter stopped by the shop before returning to work. She’s concerned about you, Jenna.”

  “Aw, that’s nice,” I said with a teasing lilt in my tone.

  “She’s not concerned in that way,” Pepper warned.

  “Don’t I know it. I seem to rub her the wrong way.”

  “You and everyone else.” Pepper glanced at Flora, who tittered. “Between us, she never played well with others in the sandbox.”

  The waitress delivered my Pellegrino in a plastic cup with a lid and straw and moved on.

  “Say, Pepper,” I said as I unfolded a white cloth napkin, “did you ever see your tenant and Nick Baldini together?”

  “Sean doesn’t mingle much.”

  “How about Melody?” I asked.

  “Once. Doing that fair-speak thing. They were right outside my booth on the Pier. He and two others were fighting over which one would take the fair maiden to the king’s ball. Of course, Nick, the king, said he had first rights. The others overly emoted their disappointment. One said, ‘Be gone, ye paunchy, idle-headed mold-warp.’” Pepper snorted. “I love saying mold-warp.”

  Flora repeated the term; her cheeks flushed.

  “The whole time Melody blushed like a schoolgirl,” Pepper went on. “She fiddled with her hair and uttered, ‘Please sir,’ or ‘If you will, sir.’”

  Flora said, “I’m sorry I missed that. I love all the drama at the fair. Not the real drama, mind you,” she hastened to add. “Not the murder. But the playacting is fun and lively. Although lately, all I seem to be running into are puppetry people bopping each other over the hea
d.”

  “Punch and Judy,” Pepper grumbled. “How I hate that stupid show. In this day and age, why are we letting children see that kind of abuse?”

  “I agree,” Flora said. “We should talk to Z.Z. about it. Be proactive. Change it up.”

  “Great idea.” Pepper thumped the table.

  Returning to the issue that piqued my interest, I said, “Pepper, do you know how long the Beauforts have lived in the city?”

  “A year or so.”

  “Where else have they lived?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Why are you so intrigued by them?”

  “Z.Z. said they came from Ohio.”

  “They might have. I wouldn’t know.”

  “Didn’t they fill out paperwork for the Airbnb rental?”

  “Yes, with the parent company. I merely required that they have good credit.”

  I picked up my cup and rose to leave.

  Pepper grasped my wrist. “Word to the wise, Jenna. Don’t buck my daughter. She won’t take kindly to it.”

  “I would never think of bucking her.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing, asking all these questions?”

  I wrenched free of her grip. “Pepper, Nick Baldini was a friend of mine and of so many others in this town. Not to mention Bailey’s wedding has to be postponed. The sooner this tragedy is solved, the sooner our town and friends can heal, wouldn’t you agree? You of all people know how solving the murder of Dr. Thornton helped others. You were instrumental in the capture of her killer.”

  “I wasn’t . . .” She paused. “Well, maybe I was.” Before Pepper had stumbled upon my standoff with a killer, she had made it her purpose in life to thwart me. Ever since we’d worked in tandem to foil the murderer, however, we had coexisted nicely.

  “Do what you have to do,” she said. “My lips are sealed.”

  When I reentered the Cookbook Nook, my aunt was slipping into the storage room, shaking her head to and fro. Sensing something was wrong, I followed her. Tigger bounded to his feet and trailed me.