Pressing the Issue Page 14

  Rhett and I raised our hands. So did two of the other students.

  Rhett whispered to me, “She didn’t ask if we were any good.”

  I giggled and elbowed him to hush.

  A matronly woman to my right, who was clad in a silver gown and sported three strands of diamond necklaces, waved to catch Melody’s attention. “I want to do what you do, Ms. Beaufort. I want to make long-necked porcelain vases.”

  Melody affectionately brushed the woman’s shoulder with her palm. “I appreciate lofty goals, but a word of warning. It might take you a while to master. I studied for many years before I could become proficient.”

  “With the same teacher?” the woman asked.

  “No, I had three different teachers.”

  “Three?”

  “Two were quite good.”

  “And the third?”

  Melody paused; her forehead pinched as she searched for a word. “Was brilliant but complicated.”

  “Well, I’ll take as many classes as it requires,” the woman said. “Now that I’m divorced, I’m building a new life for myself in the city.”

  “Building a new life can be a challenge,” Melody said. “Believe me, I know.”

  “Do you offer private instruction?” the woman asked.

  Rhett nudged me. “This gal must have deep pockets.”

  “I’m sure she does,” I murmured. “Look at the necklace she’s wearing.”

  “You don’t think the diamonds are fake?”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re not.” I knew the difference thanks to an advertising campaign I’d managed for Glitter, a high-end jewelry store. The store’s owner had coaxed me to try on dozens of rings, necklaces, and bracelets so I could decide which to feature in the ad. To educate me, she had compared the real thing to paste for hours on end.

  Melody said, “Of course I offer private lessons. However, today we’re starting with the basics. I’m going to teach you the coil method.”

  For the next few minutes, she explained the process, which was a simple way to teach newbies, like us, how to build bowls, vases and other shapes by forming the clay into sausage-like ropes.

  Halfway through Melody’s speech, Sean approached her and placed a white lace shawl over her shoulders. Then he tenderly tucked a loose hair behind her ear. She thanked him and proceeded.

  As attentive as he was to her, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get her alone and ask the questions that were plaguing me: why didn’t she have an Internet presence other than her website, and had she known Nick before meeting him this week?

  During her chat, Melody provided pictures of items we could create. Rhett chose to make a small vase. I hoped to produce an oval pot. Melody showed us how to keep our fingers flat and meld the coils after we’d placed two or three of them together.

  At the end of the session, as Melody was directing us to add finger textures to the upper rims of our creations, the messenger in the royal blue Shakespearean outfit rushed into the booth. Upon closer inspection, he wasn’t as gawky as I’d thought. He was lean and ropy and rather cute. No wonder Tina was interested in him.

  “What, ho! I have a missive,” he bleated.

  Melody inhaled sharply. Sean tried to muscle him out.

  “Sire, please. The missive is not for thy bride. ’Tis for the lady in silver. Forsooth, I shall have to forfeit my position if I do not deliver it. I have seven mouths to feed. Please, sire, have pity on a beleaguered soul.” The messenger couldn’t have been more than twenty-one. His spontaneous playacting, as though he were a family man, was charming.

  “Fine. Sure. Go ahead. Sorry, ma’am,” Sean said to his patron.

  The messenger hurried to the diamond-bejeweled woman, bent at the waist, and placed the scroll tied with ribbon across his palm. “For thee, my lady.”

  She took it and read it, and a grin spread across her face. “Ooh,” she cooed as she pressed the letter lovingly to her chest.

  When the messenger departed, Melody sank onto a stool, her eyes glistening with moisture, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

  “Melody?” I rose to console her.

  Sean blocked me. “Let her be. She wells up whenever someone is happy.”

  She didn’t seem welled up. She appeared distraught.

  Sean said loudly to the group, “Folks, now that you’ve completed your projects, set them on one of the trays with the receipt I gave you upon entering. We’ll fire them overnight, and you can pick them up tomorrow. Thanks for coming. Feel free to browse.”

  He sauntered to Melody and dropped to one knee. He said something in a hushed voice. Melody nodded, wiped her eyes, and, gathering the folds of her skirt, exited the tent.

  I sighed. My quest to get answers from her would have to wait.

  A short while later, after enjoying another quickie lunch of shepherd’s pie at the diner—it was fast becoming one of my favorite comfort foods—Rhett and I emerged into the sunlight. I didn’t mind the harsh glare because I was thrilled that the spring rain, which had been predicted for this week, had missed us and gone north. It was a gorgeous, cloudless blue-sky day.

  “Heading my way?” Rhett jutted his thumb in the direction of his store.

  “I think I’ll stop in and see Katie before going back to work.”

  “Enjoy yourself. This was fun.” He kissed me on the cheek and strode away, immediately swallowed up by the mob.

  I headed toward the Nook’s Pasties booth but startled when a scraggly young pirate in a thigh-length leather vest, striped shirt, and pantaloons burst from Ye Olde Wine Shoppe. He nearly knocked me down, so I barked, “Hey!”

  He didn’t slow and he didn’t apologize. He sped toward the far end of the Pier.

  Hannah burst from her stall, one hand planted on a hip and the other brandishing a corkscrew. “And stay out!” she shouted. Dressed in her smoky black gown, she looked formidable.

  I dusted myself off and crossed to her. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. How are you? Did he run into you?”

  “Almost.”

  “Come in.” She beckoned me. “Have a sip of wine. I have a bottle open.”

  “It’s a tad early for me.”

  “Suit yourself, but a little pinot noir can calm the nerves.” She retreated inside her stall.

  I followed. “What happened?”

  “That thief tried to steal a corkscrew. He hid it under his vest. The nerve.” She offered a sly smile and hitched her thumb. “But I spotted him in the angled mirror.” A mirror hung in the corner and gave her a clear view of the stall. “I wrenched it from him and told him you don’t mess with a Storm.” She straightened the mugs on her display table and guided me to a stool by the petite oak bar. She poured a glass of water and pushed it toward me. “Why are you staring?”

  “Am I?” I supposed I was. I couldn’t help thinking that I’d seen someone about Hannah’s size running from my cottage. I slid onto the stool and rested my arms on the countertop.

  “You’re still staring.”

  “Last night, were you on the beach outside my place?”

  “No. I was with my grandmother. Why? Did someone spook you? You know, another girlfriend in your neighborhood has complained about a prowler. Maybe you should ask Old Jake to keep an eye on your place for a day or two. He adores you.” She moved to the barrel of winepresses and twisted the tools, heels inward. “These things get so snarled up. Putting them in order keeps me on my toes.” She snickered and repeated, “Toes. Ha! What a punster. Can you believe that I’ve sold over twenty?”

  “Twenty. That’s a lot.” I swiveled on the stool. “Hannah, I’m not sure I should say anything, but . . .” I hesitated. Sooner or later she would find out. She would have to. “Did you know that one of those was used to kill Nick?”

  She blanched and staggered backward, a hand to her chest. “No,” she rasped.

  “The police didn’t tell you?”

  She shook her head.

  “But they question
ed you, didn’t they?”

  “Yes. Someone heard Nick and me exchanging words at the fair, and a witness saw me digging near our property lines earlier in the day.”

  Apparently, Cinnamon hadn’t revealed that I was said witness.

  “Were you truly angry when you and Nick went at it?” I asked. “Or were the two of you acting?”

  “I wasn’t angry at first. I’d heard he wanted to sell his place, so I approached him.”

  “That had to be a rumor. He would never sell.”

  “That’s what he said. I’m not sure who started the gossip. Nick blew a fuse. He said even if he were to sell, he would never make a deal with me because of what my grandmother did. That made me lose my cool.”

  “What did she do?”

  Hannah huffed. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. Your family history matters because . . .” I jammed my lips together.

  “Because why?”

  Cool, Jenna. Now you’ve stuck your foot in it.

  “Were you at his house that night?” I asked, switching tactics. “An ornate bead from your necklace was found on the verandah where he was killed.”

  “How would you . . .” Her eyes widened. “Of course. You were there. You and Bailey found him. That had to be horrible.”

  “It was.” An image of Nick lying on the floor popped into my mind. I pushed it aside and focused on Hannah. She hadn’t denied that she was there.

  Hannah sighed. “I might as well tell you. I’ve already told the police. Yes, I was there that evening, around five. After not finding anything troublesome at the property line, I wanted to apologize for hassling him in public.”

  “Twice.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Boy, everyone’s tongues must be wagging, huh? Yes, twice.”

  “Go on.”

  “I also wanted to apologize for whatever my grandmother did. For years, Nana—I call her Nana—claimed that Nick’s grandfather diverted water from a natural spring beneath our property, which forced us to have to transport water. She said that raised our costs by a mile.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Hold on.” She flattened her palm to ward me off. “A couple of days ago, when I got back from Europe after visiting my brother for a week, Nana swore that she saw Nick walking the property with an inspector while I was gone. She told me Nick’s crew had changed the fencing line because they’d found another spring to tap into. I seethed and stewed and finally confronted Nick at the fair. He denied everything. He said he never walked the property, never brought an inspector to check things out, never moved a fence, and never tapped a spring—ever. He tried to calm me down.”

  “You said he owed you.”

  “Owed me an explanation. He said he didn’t. He said it was Nana’s fault because she carried a longtime grudge against the Baldinis. I hated hearing that so I stewed some more. When I met up with him again outside the ice cream store, well . . .”

  The scene Keller had witnessed ensued.

  “I was a boor. A bully. Nick stormed off. But I wasn’t convinced by his Mr. Innocent act. That was why I was in the field, to scope out what might be going on.”

  “You were digging with a shovel.”

  She blinked. “So it was you who saw me and told the police.”

  My mouth went dry. “Yes. Bailey and I had gone to the vineyard to discuss her upcoming wedding.”

  “Wow, she was going to have her wedding there? She’ll have to change the site now, won’t she? Poor thing.”

  I nodded. “She’s put out some feelers.”

  “Good. I’ve always wanted to hold weddings at Hurricane Vineyards, but Nana won’t hear of it.” Hannah muttered something that sounded like stubborn. She fanned the air. “Back to Nick and me. Later, after finding no evidence, I rode my bike to his place to apologize. We met on the verandah. A few minutes in, I started to hyperventilate because I was so ashamed. He steadied me by the shoulders. Somehow his fingers caught in my necklace. In an instant, the strand broke apart. I’m an inept amateur jewelry maker. He helped me gather the beads. One must have rolled out of view.”

  Hannah’s admission let Dolly and Alan or possibly his crow off the hook. No one had planted the bead to frame her.

  “I didn’t kill him, Jenna,” she said, her tone filled with sincerity. “Over the next few minutes, Nick and I discussed my grandmother and why she’d always hated his grandfather. Pride? Jealousy? The Baldini property is slightly bigger than ours. Its yield is much greater. Whatever the reason, we made amends, and I went straight back to my place to have it out with Nana. I railed at her for a good hour.”

  “Can she corroborate that timeline?”

  Hannah lowered her chin. “No. She’s old. She fell asleep mid-rant. And neither can the nurse. I released her the moment I got home. But I was there. I swear it.” She fisted her hand and pounded it into her palm. “Wait. I saw Alan in the field around six. I don’t know if he saw me. I waved from the second-story window.”

  “Really?” I cocked my head. “Alan said he saw you in the field at that time.”

  “What? No! I was in the house. Like I said, I had ridden my bicycle to Baldini Vineyards. I wouldn’t have taken it through the fields. The foreman saw me pedaling up the hill, and the housekeeper watched me set it in the bike rack.” She sighed. “I suppose both sightings would be too early to corroborate that I was home at the time Nick died.”

  “Alan said he’d recognize you anywhere.”

  “Well, he’s mistaken. He didn’t see me. Not in the field. But I did see him. How could I miss him? He had that silly bird on his shoulder.”

  “Did you see anyone else in the field?”

  “I can’t say that I did.”

  If Alan wasn’t lying, then who was on Hurricane Vineyards’ property that night?

  Hannah folded her hands in supplication. “Jenna, you’ve got to believe me. I wouldn’t have hurt Nick. I would have taken him to court if I’d needed to prove he was appropriating our property. Nana might have tried to mislead me, but my father taught me the proper way to conduct business. In fact, I did contact a lawyer before approaching Nick about buying the vineyard. He was supposed to be drawing up an offer. You can check with him, not that it gives me an alibi, but it substantiates my story.”

  Chapter 13

  In the early afternoon, when I returned to the Cookbook Nook, I discovered that the children had come and gone and adults had taken their place at the rear table. Dolly, in an olive green medieval gown—she featured so many Renaissance-style dresses in her shop that she could wear a different one every day—had signed on to lead a second class. Today, she was teaching five women and one gentleman how to make Celtic jewelry. Storage trays holding a vast assortment of beads sat in the middle of the table. Her students were reviewing printouts of possible designs.

  “Hi, Dolly,” I said, drawing nearer to study the beads. I loved the silver tubes and Irish knots, but my favorites were the long, twisted pendants with a single stone set in the middle. They reminded me of an opal necklace David had given me a month after we’d started dating. It was now nestled in the bottom of my jewelry box, never to see the light of day again.

  “Afternoon, Jenna.” Dolly gave me a wink, but I noticed her eyes were puffy and she had developed a rash around them, probably from crying so often. Had she told Cinnamon her alibi?

  Luscious, comforting music started to play through the speakers. My breathing settled into a steady rhythm.

  Seconds later, Aunt Vera emerged from the storage room. “Like the tune, dear?”

  “Love it. It’s the Viking one, right?”

  “Good memory.”

  I recalled the album because its lengthy title was worthy of a cookbook—Medieval Viking Magic Fantasy for Celtic Folk Lute and Classical Guitar.

  “This tune is ‘Saga of Viking Ship in Irish Sea.’ Can’t you just see the ships floating across the water?” She mimed the swell of the ocean in front of her.

  “I can,
indeed.” I tilted my head to assess her—weary eyes, thin taut mouth. She was anything but lighthearted. “How are you feeling about your misgivings over Alan’s and Hannah’s tarot card readings?”

  “Alas, I know I can’t fix everything, dear.” She forced a smile. “I do my best, but ultimately fate takes the lead.”

  “Cut it out, Vera.” Bailey scurried from behind the checkout counter and flicked my aunt on the arm. “Don’t lie to Jenna.”

  “Lie?” my aunt echoed.

  “Lie. Fib. Tell an untruth.” Bailey aimed a finger at my aunt. “Those two readings have you shivering in your Birkenstocks.” She leveled her gaze at me. “Jenna, your aunt has been moping about ever since she returned from the fair. We’ve got to do something. We have to find Nick’s killer.”

  “Don’t worry.” I steered the two of them back to the sales counter. “I’ve sent Hannah in Cinnamon’s direction.”

  “Do you think she’s guilty?” Bailey asked.

  “No, I think she’s innocent. She has an alibi.”

  “Then what good does it do sending her to the police?” Bailey huffed. “What’s her alibi?”

  I explained.

  Bailey folded her arms. “That sounds iffy.”

  My aunt agreed.

  I nodded. It did. “However, she saw Alan and his crow, which corroborates her story, right?”

  Bailey shrugged. “I suppose, but if she didn’t kill Nick, then who did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Grumbling, Bailey slipped behind the counter and started organizing the prepaid orders, each secured by a rubber band and a notecard signifying who had bought what. “By the way,” she said, a growl in her tone, “bad news. Chef Guy contacted me. Nature’s Retreat isn’t available.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “So I’ve bitten the bullet and contacted Alan about holding the wedding at Baldini Vineyards.”

  My aunt stifled a gasp. I steadied her with my hand.

  “If the police find out who killed Nick,” Bailey continued, “and if Alan will let me have it there, is it gross beyond gross? Be honest.”