Pressing the Issue Read online

  I pushed through the curtain. “Aunt Vera, are you—”

  She whirled around. Her face was ash white.

  My stomach snagged. I hurried to her and threw my arms around her. “What’s wrong? You’re shivering.”

  “It’s nothing.” She wriggled free.

  “Talk to me.”

  She whisked off her turban, set it on a shelf, and fluffed her hair.

  “Aunt Vera, c’mon. Something has you spooked.”

  Picking up on her angst, Tigger rubbed against her ankles. He looped his tail around her legs. She scratched him beneath his chin. “You sweet adorable cat.” She stopped doting on him and eyed me. “Jenna, dear, you know how much I loved the Baldini family. I’ve known them so very long.”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I did a tarot card reading”—she withdrew a packet of tarot cards from the pocket of her lavender caftan—“for Alan Baldini.” She spread the cards and fanned herself.

  “You saw him at the fair? Did he tell you that Cinnamon questioned him?”

  “No. He was there performing with his crow. He looked a little sallow, and his eyes were decidedly hollow. He mumbled something about the show going on. He said Nick would expect nothing less, but I could see his heart wasn’t in it.” She removed the top three cards from the deck and set them on the desk. “He begged me for a reading. After paying a farthing, he asked if I saw love in his future.”

  “You didn’t see love, though, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Please don’t tell me you pulled the Death card.”

  “That and more.” She showed me the three cards she had drawn on his behalf: the Three of Pentacles as well as Death and Devil cards. She waved the Three of Pentacles, which showed three people discussing a property structure, basically implying that work needed to be done or renovations needed to be carried out. “If a person draws this, he could be coming into property. With Nick dead . . .”

  I got her drift. Since both of their parents were dead, Alan was the lone survivor. He would inherit Nick’s portion of the vineyard, unless Nick had divested of it another way.

  “The Death card, as you know, can be highly misunderstood,” she said, “but when it shows up in companion with the Three of Pentacles, I felt a fear beyond all fears. Death can stand for the ending of a major phase of your life.”

  “Losing your brother.”

  “It can also represent the beginning of something far more valuable.”

  “Inheritance.”

  “It might mean you have to close one door in order to open another.”

  “Murder.”

  She nodded. “It’s horrible, don’t you see?”

  I opened my arms, palms up. “Cinnamon questioned Alan. She’s letting him roam free. She’s convinced he didn’t do it.”

  “Is she?” Vera said. “Maybe she let him go because she doesn’t have the goods on him yet.”

  “Listen to you. The goods, like this is a scene out of a gangster movie.” I squeezed her arm affectionately.

  “Maybe she set him loose so he might reveal himself.” She worried one of her dangling earrings between her fingertips.

  “The third card is the devil. What does that represent in conjunction with the other two?” The card depicted a satyr that was half man and half goat.

  “Often times the devil becomes the scapegoat that we blame for troubles in life, meaning Alan might be innocent.” She shuffled the tarot deck and reinserted it into her pocket. “If he is, then who killed his brother, and is Alan in danger?”

  “Cinnamon says she has a number of suspects in her sights.”

  “Is Hannah Storm one of them?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “She came to me for a reading, as well. Right after Melody Beaufort rushed off and before Alan arrived. Hannah was nervously itching her palms throughout the session. She said the police had questioned her.”

  Good. Maybe Cinnamon had discovered why Hannah had been staring through binoculars at Nick and whether she had lost a bead.

  “I like Hannah a lot,” my aunt said. “I’m worried for her.”

  “What cards did you turn up?”

  Aunt Vera pulled a single card from her other pocket.

  I recognized the Empress card, which featured a full-figured woman—the archetypal Earth Mother—in a gold gown with blond hair. She had a peaceful aura about her.

  “That’s a good card,” I said.

  “Not if it’s upside down.” She twisted it. “In reverse position, it means the recipient is dealing with confusion, maybe even indecisiveness about the direction of a relationship.”

  I took the card from her and held it upright. “Perhaps this has to do with Hannah and Nick. I was wondering whether she was interested in Nick or he in her,” I explained. When I was telling her about the bird swooping in and flying off with the bead, I paused. Why was there only one bead on the verandah? Did Alan’s crow, as I’d theorized earlier, bring it from Hannah’s property, meaning Hannah was never there?

  Aunt Vera said, “The card also signifies Hannah might be finding it difficult to work cooperatively with others.”

  “She and Nick had a couple of disagreements over water rights.”

  “Hmm,” she hummed softly.

  “What other cards did you draw for her?”

  “The Eight of Cups, which signifies disappointment and abandonment, and the Two of Pentacles reversed, which implies difficulty and discouragement.”

  “Perhaps those pertain to her family. I hear she’s got her hands full with her grandmother, and her brother is living in Paris. What do you know about them?”

  “The Storms have a long history in Crystal Cove. Her great-grandfather, Hugh, for whom her brother was named, relocated from England. The Storm surname is interesting.” My aunt shuffled to the water cooler beside the desk and filled a paper cup with water. The water tank burped as she downed the liquid. “In olden days, it was given to someone with a blustery, stormy temperament. This comes from a long history of Europeans giving surnames attributed to nicknames. According to tales, Hugh Storm, or Stormy, as he was called, was such a fellow. He enjoyed his liquor, but he fell in love with wine. He went to Europe and hunted down four old vines. Using the cloning technique, he kept the vineyard prospering. As you know from the vineyard tour we took last year, a clone is a single vine that has been selected from a mother vine to which it is identically similar.”

  “So the Storms tinkered with nature.”

  “All vintners tinker with nature. With the varied rains and drought that we have experienced, the key to keeping a vineyard going is to tweak and try something new. Stormy was passionate about what he did. He passed that fervor onto his son, rest his soul, who passed it on to his daughter Hannah.”

  “Not to Hannah’s brother.”

  “No.” She heaved a sigh. “Such a pity. Young Hugh left town with a chip on his shoulder the size of a hundred-year-old vine. Hannah had to carry on alone. It’s not easy running a vineyard.”

  “I’ve heard her grandmother can be quite a tyrant. Cinnamon went so far as to call her bitter.”

  “She wasn’t always that way. When her beloved husband was alive, she was a fun woman to be with. Quite intelligent. A good storyteller. The loss of a spouse can turn a soul dark.” Aunt Vera tossed the empty paper cup into the trash can. “It doesn’t help that osteoporosis has crippled her so much that she clings emotionally to Hannah.” My aunt’s eyes brimmed with tears. “She always took such pride in her husband’s accomplishments. She doesn’t want anyone to ruin his legacy.”

  “How sad.” I handed her back the Empress card.

  Aunt Vera rotated it and studied it, dragging a finger along the length of the gown. “So pretty, isn’t she? But what is her fate?”

  Chapter 11

  After closing the Cookbook Nook and dropping Tigger at home, I met up with Bailey at the entrance to the Renaissance Fair. Dusk was setting in, and torches were lit along both main a
venues. The glow gave the area an ethereal, otherworldly look, which made me feel like I’d entered a magical town.

  Bailey had already purchased a wreath for her hair and corncob on a stick for a snack. She offered me a bite. I grabbed hold of the stick and dug in. The treat tasted smoky. Butter oozed onto my fingers. I was glad she had brought napkins; otherwise, I would have licked every drop off my fingertips.

  When I handed the corncob back, she said, “I spoke with Chef Guy. He thinks the rose garden at Nature’s Retreat is a perfect setting for a wedding. What do you think? I’m meeting up with Tito after he’s done interviewing a few of the vendors. We have to decide what to do next.”

  “I think the rose garden would be lovely.”

  “No view.”

  “The magnificent flowers will make a beautiful backdrop, and you can keep your green-and-red theme. Plus the food will come straight from Nature’s Retreat kitchen, so you know there won’t be any slipups.”

  “When did you become Pollyanna?”

  “In the last hour. I asked Glinda the Good Witch to grant me a wish.”

  Bailey laughed. So did I. When we were ten, she and I had read The Wizard of Oz at the same time. Both of us had imagined ourselves as Dorothy. We adored Glinda. Who didn’t?

  “Guy isn’t sure if the garden is available, though,” Bailey said, “so I’m waiting for a callback.”

  “Hi-ho!” Tito strode toward us, sans crier’s bell. No doubt, it had become a hindrance when doing his interviews.

  I poked my friend. “There’s your lover. Go. I’ll stop in and see Rhett.”

  I entered Bait and Switch Fishing and Sport Supply Store and spotted Rhett in the camping section, which featured camping gear, dozens of fishing rods, and a glass-enclosed display case of multi-use tools. Displays of backpacks and hiking boots hung on the walls. Rhett was tightening the straps of a backpack on a lanky male customer. A few other backpacks lay on the floor. The customer gave Rhett a thumbs-up gesture, shrugged off the pack, and headed to the checkout desk with his selection in hand.

  Rhett saw me and sized me up with a sexy grin. If I could bottle that look. Luckily, it was etched in my memory. He sauntered to me. “My lady, Maid Marian, what brings thee to the fair this fine evening?”

  “To beg a sweet kiss from you.”

  “I must oblige.” He pecked me on the cheek.

  “Do you have time for a quick meal? I was thinking before dinner we could sign up for a pottery class like you promised.”

  “Sure. Let me wrap up a few loose ends here. By the way”—he picked up the unwanted backpacks and slung them onto the stand with other similar carriers—“our dedicated chief of police stopped by today.”

  “What did she want?”

  “To find out more about Nick—for example, who worked with him at the fair and who might have had a feud with him. She’s asking every vendor.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “I also got an earful about you tracking her down during her coffee break, like I could rein you in.” He dragged a knuckle along my jaw.

  “Yeah, well.” I felt my cheeks flush. “It was Bailey’s idea.”

  “Did you race her to the café?”

  “I tried, but I had to slow down because my wreath was jiggling like crazy.”

  Rhett guffawed. “What did you learn?”

  “Not much. You know Cinnamon. Tight-lipped and by the letter.”

  He donned his Robin Hood hat, told his clerk that he was taking a much-needed break, and clasped my hand. A moment after we exited, I spotted Melody Beaufort hastening toward the ladies’ room. Her cheeks were tear-stained.

  “Melody,” I shouted, hoping I might be able to provide comfort, but she didn’t slow.

  A barker in a cherry red jacket and pantaloons tramped past us yelling, “Come one, come all. The event of your lives is about to take place. What is it, ye ask? Why, ’tis tea with the queen!”

  The queen, looking regal in an elaborate gold gown with a gold-and-white accordion-style collar, followed him. Two guards, dressed like those at Buckingham Palace, and a half dozen maidens trailed her.

  “Who’s playing the queen?” Rhett asked me.

  “If I’m not mistaken, she’s the same actress who played the Queen of Hearts. Once a queen, always a queen.”

  “Isn’t that a Queen Elizabeth getup?” Nick asked. “Aren’t we in Henry VIII’s time period?”

  “I’m sure there are lots of time warps at the event. Haven’t you seen the steampunk patrons?” I patted his arm. “Try not to get caught up in the details of reality, my love.”

  We passed a small booth named Braids for Maids, where vendors were braiding the hair of girls of all ages with ribbon. Even a few boys with long tresses were getting in on the fun. I was glad Tigger wasn’t with me. He would have had a field day with the ribbon.

  Directly across the boardwalk was Beaufort’s Beautiful Pottery. I made a detour to the stall, dragging Rhett along. Sean, in his dashing Petruchio costume, stood at the sales desk. Three customers sat at pottery wheel stations.

  “Good e’en, kind sir,” I said to Sean. “Wouldst be possible for us to enroll in a lesson on the morrow?”

  Sean shook a finger. “You don’t have to bother doing the fair-speak thing with me.”

  “But it’s fun.”

  “Honestly? I find it a pain. Melody loves it, so I indulge her.” He picked up a pad. “What time? We have spots at ten and two.”

  “Ten?” I glanced at Rhett. He nodded.

  Sean scribbled our names in the pad. “Got it.”

  “Hey, Sean, I saw Melody rush past me,” I said. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but is she all right? I think she was crying.”

  “She’s fine. Got something in her eye.”

  “Tell her I look forward to learning how she makes her pots.”

  “Will do, but don’t get your hopes up because”—Sean flicked his fingertips—“it’s magic.”

  “Like smoke and mirrors?” I teased.

  “Exactly. She doesn’t give away her secrets.”

  Enjoying our walk, Rhett and I moseyed toward the far end of the Pier, passing a series of activities including juggling, archery, and the Dragon Swing—an adventuresome ride on a gigantic green dragon. A line of people waited at each venue.

  “What piques your fancy for dinner?” Rhett asked.

  “I was thinking of having hawker’s mush.”

  “Pray tell, what’s that?”

  “Spinach-and-wild-rice pancakes topped with hollandaise sauce.”

  “Intriguing.”

  We moseyed to that stall and fetched two portions. While sitting on a bench with a view of the beach and ocean, we ate to our hearts’ content. The hollandaise sauce was luscious and just the ticket on a cool evening.

  “Say, isn’t that Alan Baldini on the sand?” Rhett asked.

  Alan looked quite handsome in his falconer’s outfit of black trousers, black suede vest over a muslin chemise, and plumed hat. Sporting a falconer’s elbow-length leather gauntlet on his left arm, he was showing the group how his crow would fly in a circle and come back to him. Once that task was completed, Alan selected a woman in the group. With the woman’s blessing, he ordered the crow to fly off and, upon its return, land on her shoulder. The crow obeyed. On its new perch, the crow boldly plucked a trinket from the woman’s hair adornments and took wing. Alan commanded the bird to return to its perch. When it did, he grabbed hold of the bird’s leather jesses, retrieved the woman’s treasure, and gallantly handed it back to the woman.

  As the spectators cheered their approval, I pictured the bead I’d found on Nick’s verandah and wondered whether Alan had coaxed his bird to put it there to frame Hannah.

  Alan wrapped up his demonstration and made his way to a staircase leading up to the Pier.

  “Show’s over,” Rhett said. “It’s time for me to return to work, fair maiden. Customers are hankering for wares. You continue on. I’ll see you on the morrow.” He l
ifted the hair off the nape of my neck and kissed the hollow. I about swooned.

  “Till then,” I murmured.

  Without Rhett by my side, I strolled along South Street drinking in the marvelous items for sale. At Sabersmith, I sorted through amazing metalwork, ancient coins, pewter pitchers and cups, and decorative knives in leather sleeves. Beside Sabersmith was Celtic Dreams, a booth that offered gorgeous jewelry and silk scarves. At Dragon’s Quest, I browsed exotic hand-blown glass dragons, complete with fiery eyes and ornate tails and claws. None were cheap; most went for over a hundred dollars. The purple-headed dragon with red eyes was mesmerizing.

  Near Mum’s the Word Diner, I cut through to North Street and entered Mistress of the Fairies. The entire stall was decorated in tones of green—moss green flooring, forest green silk banners, and kelly green shelving displaying finished products. Flora was seated at a mosaic bistro-style table working on an ethereal small garden that was decked out with flickering lights, blue picket fence, and wishing well.

  “Nice work, mistress,” I said. “Who ’tis the buyer?”

  “I don’t ken yet. As I told you—”

  “Each garden picks the buyer.”

  “Though in this competitive market,” she said, drooping the fair-speak, “I’m selling less than I expected.”

  “Really? There seems to be plenty of foot traffic.”

  “Most people are taking pictures to post on their Instagram sites. Go figure.”

  “Be of stout heart, mistress,” I said, taking up the fair-speak again. “May luck be with thee.”

  “And with thee, Maid Marian.”

  Outside her booth, I paused when I spotted Alan hovering near Ye Olde Wine Shoppe. The crow was not on his shoulder. He was fingering one of the winepress tools. My insides knotted. Was he reliving the experience of bludgeoning his brother? I was surprised that Hannah was still selling the items. Maybe she was ignorant of the fact that one had been used as a murder weapon. It hadn’t been mentioned in any of the newspaper articles.

  I drew near and heard Alan say, “Are you sure?”

  “I haven’t seen it,” Hannah replied.

  “Seen what?” I asked Alan. “Did you lose your bird?”