Wining and Dying Page 13

  Talking of Yardley made me once again think about the dishes in the sink. Did Sienna wash them for all negligent guests? That was way beyond the call of duty for an establishment owner, in my book. Could one of the staff disprove her cover story? I said, “I wonder if Cinnamon questioned the employees at the inn.”

  “I’m sure she has. As you said to Jake, if she is one thing, she’s thorough.” Rhett and Cinnamon had been involved years ago. When she’d investigated the arson at the Grotto, that had put a damper on things. She’d suspected Rhett. When he was proven innocent, they’d become friends again, but by then, I was in the picture.

  “True. But what if Sienna isn’t on Cinnamon’s radar because she can’t come up with a motive for her?”

  My cell phone buzzed against my hip. I pulled it from my purse and scanned the readout. My aunt was texting to ask if I’d checked in on Yardley. I hadn’t and felt guilty. I apologized to Rhett and dialed Yardley’s number. She answered, sounding tired but clearheaded.

  “I’m home. Naomi left.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “I’m fine. Really. No more panic attacks. No more sobbing mess. I’m facing reality, all blinders off. Don’t worry. My husband will be catching a plane tomorrow. He hates to leave a conference early, but for me, anything.” She chuckled. “He says I’m a drama queen.”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “He means it in an endearing way. Thanks for calling, but”—she yawned—“I’m going to go to sleep now.”

  “I’ll stop by in the morning.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  I ended the call and gazed at Rhett. “I need to touch base with Cinnamon.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of something Yardley said. She was a sobbing mess at the crime scene.”

  “So?”

  “Sienna was as cool as a cucumber.”

  “Keeping one’s cool under pressure”—Rhett jabbed the table with a fingertip—“doesn’t make one a killer. Sienna runs a large business, after all. There must be plenty of fires to put out.”

  “Even so . . .” I dialed the precinct. Cinnamon was not in. As I rang her cell phone, I mulled over what I was going to say. “Hey, it’s me, Jenna. I know you don’t appreciate my two cents, but if Sienna Brown isn’t on your radar, she should be. Gracie Goldsmith believes she saw Sienna going into a doctor’s office and—”

  I stabbed End without leaving a message and revisited my earlier thought. Would Sienna have killed the father of her child?

  Chapter 14

  Tigger and Rook were all over us the moment we arrived home. You would have thought we hadn’t seen them in months. It took an hour to calm them down before we were able to climb into bed. As I was falling asleep, I thought how lucky I was to have Rhett sharing the same house with me now. We would say I do someplace in a matter of months. If only I knew what that someplace would be. Soon, I told myself as I drifted off. Soon.

  I awoke before sunrise. Something had startled me. And then I realized it was Rook shoving his face into mine. His breath was raunchy enough to wilt the staunchest of roses. “Got to go?” I whispered. He snorted. I peeked over my shoulder. Rhett was sound asleep. “Okay, boy, follow me.”

  I tiptoed out of the room to the kitchen and opened the door. “Have fun.” He tore to the far corner of the yard, where he did his business and hurtled back to me, ready for a frolic and food. I was tired, but I couldn’t say no to the big galoot. For three minutes, we played crouch and pant—his favorite people-acting-like-dog game—and then I made his meal. Tigger scampered to us and mewed.

  “Yes, it’s your turn.” Obviously the two had worked out a pecking order, and Tigger didn’t seem upset by it. He didn’t want Rook to ride roughshod over him.

  By the time I’d done my ablutions, dressed in an aqua checkered blouse and jeans, I headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. Within moments, Rhett walked through the doorway, hair scruffy, T-shirt untucked over pajama bottoms, bare feet. “Rook?” he asked.

  “Fed and happy. Coffee’s ready.”

  “You’re a saint.” He poured himself a healthy-sized cup and kissed me tenderly on the neck. If I didn’t have work and a hundred other things to do, I would have led him by the hand to the bedroom, but I couldn’t.

  “Sit,” I ordered. “I’m making bacon and scrambled eggs.”

  “A woman after my own heart.”

  A half hour later, Rhett shuffled back to bed, and I climbed into the VW with Tigger and sped to work.

  Bailey had arrived before me with Brianna and had settled her into her floor seat. “Help! I’ve got to come up with a birthday party theme for you-know-who,” she announced, pointing clandestinely to Brianna, as if the girl even knew what a party was. “I was thinking Disney something. Not a princess, though. I don’t want to get her into that rigamarole.”

  “But Elena of Avalor is a wonderful princess and a terrific role model.” I’d stumbled upon the animated TV show when I was sick one Saturday morning. “She’s a vivacious Latina who saved her magical kingdom from an evil sorceress.”

  “Ooh, Tito would love the Latina aspect.” Bailey clapped. “Yes! An Elena party. With guitars and mariachis and sass!”

  I set Tigger on his kitty condo, slipped into the storage room to stow my things, and as usual stuffed my cell phone into one of my pockets. I hated to admit it, but I couldn’t stand to be without it. It had worked like a lifeline in one dire instance. Ever since, when away from my house, I always had it with me. I returned to the sales floor and spotted Tigger beside the baby, drinking in her scent.

  Laughing I said, “What is it with cats and babies?”

  Bailey snorted. “They love the smell of poop.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Katie’s Art of Plating demonstration is this afternoon. Is she—”

  “Ready? Yep! She came in to give me an update about ten minutes ago. And a muffin.” She indicated a plate on the counter. “Chocolate mint. Truly divine.”

  “Leave me one.”

  “You snooze, you lose.”

  “Show some self-control,” I chided and then toured the shop, tweaking book spines and displays. My cell phone jangled in my pocket. I checked the readout—a reminder to touch base with Yardley—and said to Bailey, “I’ve got to make a call. You okay for a sec?”

  “We don’t open for ten minutes. Go on. But make it snappy,” she kidded.

  I settled at the children’s table to tickle Brianna’s chin while I waited for Yardley to answer. The baby giggled and cooed her appreciation. When I stopped, she reached her arms out for Tigger, who scampered to her and obliged her with a nuzzle.

  “Hello, Jenna,” Yardley answered, sounding lethargic. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “I’d love to come visit you this morning, if you’re up for it.” I didn’t add that I was worried about her.

  “That would be lovely. I’m here.” She ended the call abruptly.

  I kissed Brianna on the cheek and moved to the sales counter.

  “Your forehead is pinched,” Bailey said.

  “I spoke with Yardley. She sounds lackluster. I’d like to visit her when there’s a lull.”

  “Go now. Gran texted that she’s on her way in. With all that’s going on at Azure Park this morning, we shouldn’t have a crowd until the afternoon.”

  “Tigger . . .” I began.

  “Will be fine. Brianna thinks he’s her baby brother.” Bailey shooed me. “Say hi for me.”

  Yardley lived behind the Art Institute in a small cottage adorned with myriad azaleas. I trod up the cobblestone path to the front door and knocked. She answered the door dressed in a hand-painted cherry-blossom kimono robe, her tawny hair swept into a floral claw, wisps dangling about her face. “Come in. I look a mess,” she said. “I was doing some reorganization of our website on the computer.”

  “You look amazing, considering.”

  I stepped into the foyer, admiring the framed pen-and-ink artwork on the
walls, while inhaling the scent of lavender. Reeds disseminating the aroma jutted from clear bottles on the side table. The faint sound of gong-meditation-style music came from down the hall.

  “When I’m not chatting with anyone, I put on that tape,” Yardley said. “The gongs calm me. Come this way.” She led me to a simple kitchen done in white with black trim. All the appliances were black. The black-speckled granite counter was two-tiered. On the top level stood a huge spray of irises in a ceramic vase. “From Wayne,” she said. “He knows how much I love them. He was sorry he couldn’t catch the first plane out. He’ll be here this afternoon.”

  I’d met him a few times and, on each occasion, he had clearly doted on his wife.

  “How’s honey-infused peppermint tea?” she asked. “I made a pot five minutes ago.”

  “Terrific.”

  She set a tray with a pretty china teapot, two matching cups, a swarm-glass honey jar, napkins, and spoons, and said, “Let’s sit on the patio.” With her head, she motioned to the area beyond the kitchen, which boasted more azaleas. “Catch the door?”

  I did and settled at the cedar table. She set down the tray and poured us each a cup of tea.

  “What a lovely place this is,” I said.

  “It was one of the perks of buying the institute. Wayne and I didn’t need much house, and this place was ideal, given its natural setting.”

  I sipped my tea and hummed my approval. “This is delicious.”

  “Teas are very important in our household. Like potions, they can affect emotions. Though peppermint tea is a misnomer. It’s actually made with real peppermint leaves. I grow them.”

  A pot filled with herbs stood to the right of the kitchen door.

  “Peppermint is good for stress and anxiety. I probably should have had some yesterday.” She lifted her cup, inhaled the aroma, and replaced it. “Naomi said—” She blew air between her lips. “That girl. She sure could use a tea that would boost her confidence. She seems so frazzled and unsure lately. Maybe I’ve demanded too much of her. Teaching classes. Running the booth at the festival. Helping with the competition selections. And to be dodging her estranged husband to boot? Poor thing.”

  “I feel protective of her, too. I’ve heard red clover tea enhances serotonin, and serotonin affects not simply concentration but increases confidence in social gatherings and the like.”

  “Aren’t you a font of information.”

  “Or . . .” My mouth quirked into a smile as I pictured Pepper entering the shop with the pushcart of pendants. “Or Naomi could buy one of the potion pendants Pepper Pritchett is selling.”

  “Pepper makes potions now?”

  “No. Her friend is a crafter. She couldn’t attend the festival. The woman has filled the necklaces with potions to address all sorts of emotions. Pepper says they’re magical.” I mimed quotation marks.

  “Magical,” Yardley echoed, her eyes glistening with amusement.

  I added a swizzle of honey to my tea. “Also, I’ve heard there are perfumes to heighten confidence. Destiny Dacourt . . . you know her, don’t you? She has a business named Tripping with Destiny.”

  “Of course I know her. Wayne and I have taken her tour. We found all sorts of small-batch wineries we didn’t know existed around here, thanks to Destiny. Nouveau was our favorite.”

  “Well, she bought a perfume at the festival that’s supposed to help with confidence. She could clue in Naomi as to which perfume it is.”

  “Great idea.” Yardley rose. “I’m going to grab a few cookies for us.”

  “Not on my account.”

  “I need a little sugar.” She returned in moments with a plate filled with thin sugar cookies. “One won’t hurt you.”

  I chose a cookie and bit into it. “Lovely flavor. Cream of tartar?” I asked.

  “Good palate.” She downed a cookie and blotted her mouth. “You know, Quade dated Destiny for a nanosecond.”

  “So my aunt told me.”

  “He was never very good in the relationship department, he admitted to me. He was fickle. Like his father, I suppose. A rolling stone.” She set another cookie on her saucer. “What I found fascinating, however, was that all the women he dated in Crystal Cove had the same first initial. Delia, Deborah, Dina, and Destiny.”

  “Were they all amicable breakups?”

  “He said they were.”

  “Where do they live?” I asked, wondering if Quade had broken more hearts than Destiny’s, and if any had it in for him.

  “As far as I know, Delia is married and residing in San Francisco. Deborah is in a gay relationship in Sacramento. And Dina relocated to Los Angeles to pursue an acting career.”

  “Leaving Destiny to hope he would take more of an interest in her.”

  “Yes, but that wasn’t to be and Destiny knew it.” Yardley tucked a loose hair behind her ears. “He’d fallen for Naomi, and nothing anyone could say was going to change his mind. She was the one woman who’d truly captured his heart. Artists,” she said. “They’re a unique breed.”

  “He didn’t mind that she had a child?”

  “Quade loved children. Loved them! He told me that when he had his own, he would be a better father than what he’d had.” She lowered her gaze. “His birth father, not his adoptive father. That man is salt of the earth, even though Quade and he didn’t see eye to eye.” She sat taller. “But Naomi wasn’t into Quade. Not an iota.”

  I could confirm that. “Was Sienna?”

  Yardley blinked. “Sienna Brown? Into my son? Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “It’s only a thought.” I didn’t want to give voice to my notions about Sienna being first on the scene. “How well do you know her?”

  “We’ve interacted in order to stage the workshop and the opening night event at the inn, but that’s about all. Sienna. She’s older than me.” Yardley pondered the notion. “No, I can’t see it.”

  I polished off my cookie. “I saw Quade and her argue once or twice.”

  “What about?”

  “I didn’t hear, but Sienna was quite upset.”

  Yardley rolled her eyes. “Probably about his housekeeping ability or lack thereof.”

  “Why did she give him the cabana while his place was being fumigated? You told me she liked supporting artists, but that was a pretty expensive gift.”

  “I believe he gave her a painting in exchange.”

  A painting? Interesting. “Yardley, I’m sorry, but I have to ask. I heard you were the one who tipped off the police about Keller Landry stealing Quade’s painting. Which he didn’t. He was framed. Did Quade put it there? To prank Keller? Did he tell you to alert the police?”

  “No.” She blinked rapidly.

  “How did you know it was there?”

  “I received an anonymous t-text message,” she stammered. “I thought the police should know.”

  Anonymous. Not from Quade. From a burner phone?

  Yardley’s eyes grew misty. She swiped her forefinger beneath each eye.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I’m . . . I’m sad that I’m not going to get to know him better. All those wasted years. And Wayne was so looking forward to meeting him. Now”—she brandished a hand—“that possibility is gone.”

  • • •

  On the way back to the Cookbook Nook, I decided to swing by Home Sweet Home and pick up the orange plush kitten I’d ordered. Brianna had a cat at home named Hershey, who when first adopted had been a bully cat but now was a pussycat. However, she didn’t have any cats among her plush toys. I knew because I’d stealthily scoped them out on my last visit to Bailey’s house.

  I parked in a spot across the street and jaywalked past a pair of female festivalgoers carrying items that they had purchased at one of the venues.

  One hoisted her four-pack of wine bottles and said, “When we get back to the B and B, we are opening one of these and toasting your official divorce. You are well rid of him.”

  “Amen,” the divorc
ée said.

  I stepped into Home Sweet Home and paused, drinking in the colorful, festive array of items. It was a yummy store offering potpourri and candles, handmade crafts, linens, baby gifts, and collectibles. Willie Nelson singing “Always on My Mind” played softly through speakers. The aroma of hot apple cider hung in the air as it did all year. Flora adored cider and sold bags of her never-fail cinnamon spice mix.

  Per usual, customers were gathered near the year-round Christmas tree to find Crystal Cove–themed ornaments. For this week alone, Flora had allocated a third of the tree for festival artists so they could sell their ornaments on consignment. A few of the handblown glass ones caught my eye, but not willing to be diverted, I made a beeline for Flora, who was helping a guest near the rear of the store.

  She held up a finger, the universal sign for Just a sec.

  While waiting, I spied Pepper chatting up Sienna near the baby section. Both wore cardigans over sheath dresses. Each was holding up a layette of infant T-shirts, onesies, and more. Pepper’s was pink and Sienna’s aqua green. I sidled behind a customer and peeked around her. Sienna’s shopping basket, which was slung over one arm, was filled with more aqua green baby items. I pondered the implication but told myself to cool my jets. She could be buying things for a sister or a friend. Shopping for baby clothes was not exclusively a mother’s ritual. And Pepper, who did not have a shopping basket, was probably browsing in the hope that Cinnamon was, indeed, pregnant.

  “Here you go.” Flora offered me a gift bag with a bright yellow bow and pale yellow tissue paper poking from the top. “There’s a gift tag attached to the handle, unless you want to purchase a larger card.”

  “This is fine. Thanks.” I hitched my chin toward the far end of the shop. “Sienna looks like she’s enjoying herself.”

  Flora sniffed. “She’s been in nearly every day for the past two weeks and hasn’t bought a thing.”

  “Her basket looks full.”

  “She fills it every time,” Flora said. “And then she abandons it.”

  Because she wasn’t sure she was pregnant? Or was she contemplating some other option?

  “She looks good,” I said. “Her skin looks healthy.”