Pressing the Issue Read online

  “Why not move back to Louisiana?”

  “Don’t be crazy!”

  I’d returned home to Crystal Cove and was thrilled that I had.

  “I want to go someplace where I can get away from the memories,” Dolly said. “Do you think an old dog can learn new tricks?”

  “You’re not old.”

  “True. As my fellow Roosterette said, forty is the new thirty.” Her eyes pooled with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. “I loved Nick so much, Jenna.”

  “I’m sorry I ever—”

  “Forget it. Water under the bridge. You and your aunt have been stalwart for me for a long time.”

  When we pulled into the turnaround driveway near the front of the Baldinis’ home, Hannah was standing on the porch between the stately columns chatting with Alan. Clad in black bicycle shorts and a snug matching T-shirt, she looked all of sixteen years old. A shiny charcoal-black Raleigh mountain bike leaned against the house by a trellis of bougainvillea.

  Hannah turned as we pulled to a stop and shaded her eyes from the sunlight. Her eyes narrowed as Appleby, Dolly, and I exited our vehicles.

  “Good day, Miss Storm,” Appleby said, making his way to the door. “Out for some exercise?”

  “I am, Deputy Appleby. Sitting around the stall at the fair isn’t ideal for the waistline. Neither is eating a daily pasty. Are you here to speak with me or Alan?”

  “No, ma’am. Miss Ledoux would like to remove any personal items she might have left here in the course of her relationship with Mr. Baldini.”

  Hannah’s face relaxed. She nodded hello to Dolly and me.

  Appleby said, “Will that be all right with you, son?” He shot a hand toward Alan and instantly pulled it back.

  “Shake, Deputy.” Alan thrust his hand toward Appleby. “I’m not blind, I just can’t make out your face. P.S., I knew it was you before Hannah said a word.”

  “How?”

  “The moment you climbed out of your Jeep. There aren’t many men in town the same size as you.” Alan held out a hand to Dolly. “Come in. Welcome. I haven’t moved a thing since Nick died. At some point, I’ll have to, but I can’t cope with the change yet. You understand.”

  Dolly bit back tears. Appleby gestured for her to proceed.

  Eager to chat with Hannah, I hung back, which made Appleby stop in his tracks. Dolly lingered, as well.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Hannah,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.”

  Appleby grunted. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he had learned the disparaging sound from my father.

  “One question, Deputy,” I muttered.

  He waved for me to continue.

  “Hannah, the other day you said you saw Alan in the field from your second-floor window.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay, got your answer.” Appleby crooked his thumb. “Inside.”

  I threw him a nasty look. “Sorry, sir, but technically that wasn’t a question.”

  “What are you now, an attorney?” He huffed. “Go on.”

  “Hannah, the second-floor window that faces the Baldini property is boarded up and looks like it has been for a while.”

  Hannah swung her head to the left, as if she could see her house from that vantage point. She couldn’t. She was trying to visualize it. When she turned back, her face drained of color. “I . . .” She faltered. “I made a mistake. I wasn’t on the second floor. I was in the turret with Nana. That’s a small room in the tower, on the third floor. It has a window.”

  Appleby’s gaze sharpened. “What difference does it make, Jenna?”

  “How could your grandmother be in the attic, Hannah?” I asked. “I heard she’s pretty frail.”

  Hannah wagged her head. “She may have osteoporosis, but that doesn’t slow her down. Her legs move rather well. She’s from hard stock.”

  “You’ve hired a nurse for her,” I stated.

  “Because she’s ninety years old and can be quite demanding. When she wants water, she wants it now.” For emphasis, Hannah spanked the palm of one hand with the back of the other. “If I’m in the field or with a distributor or client, or like this week when I was at the fair, she had to have someone do her bidding. I didn’t lie about having seen Alan in the field that night, Jenna.” She eyed Deputy Appleby. “I know what he was wearing.”

  “How could you? It was dark.”

  “Yes, but I could make out his silhouette. He had on a hat with a feather. He doesn’t always wear it when he’s working with Crow.”

  “She’s right. I don’t always.” Alan bobbed his head. “But that night I was. I’d gone straight from the fair to the shop where I bought the frogs, and I hadn’t taken it off. I didn’t go into the house and hang it in the utility room because I didn’t want Nick to see me. I would’ve spilled the beans about the prank I was planning. Nick . . .” Alan heaved a sigh. “He could always strong-arm me into telling the truth.”

  Appleby swung his head from Hannah to Alan. “Did you two work out this exchange between yourselves?”

  “No, sir, it’s the first we’ve discussed it,” Alan said.

  Hannah agreed. “The very first.”

  “All-righty then,” Appleby said. “Hannah, you’re free to go, unless Jenna has any more official questions for you.”

  I didn’t indulge the deputy with a retort. To Hannah, I said, “Did you spot the person that Alan saw in the field?”

  “I didn’t, I’m sorry to say. Timing is everything, isn’t it?”

  I regarded Dolly.

  “It wasn’t me.” She threw up her hands. “The psychic confirmed to the police that I was with her. Besides, I wouldn’t trudge through a vineyard if you paid me. Bugs.” She flapped a hand. “Now, can we get going?”

  “Alan, I’ve got to scoot,” Hannah said. “See you at the fair tomorrow?”

  “Sure will. Well, you’ll see me, but I’m not so sure I’ll see you.”

  She chuckled, joining him in the joke. “I’ll be packing up midmorning,” Hannah added, “so try to stop by before noon. Will you be bringing Crow?”

  Alan shook his head. “The bird is about fair’d out, me-thinks.”

  “Come by yourself, then, and share a spot of tea with me, or taste Hurricane Vineyards’ exquisite pinot noir. Critics say it’s the best in California.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Alan quipped.

  She pecked him on the cheek and hopped onto her bicycle. As she sailed down the driveway, Alan seemed to grow a foot taller.

  Ah, love. What a wonderful elixir.

  Appleby gestured with an open palm for Dolly to precede him through the main entrance. “After you, Miss Ledoux.”

  Dolly faced Alan. “All my things are in the bedroom.”

  “Make yourself at home,” Alan said. “Feel free to make a pot of coffee, if you like. Beans are in the freezer. A coffee grinder, filters, and sugar are in the cupboard above the coffeemaker. Milk is in the fridge. I’ve got to see to Crow. I’m going to rebuild his interactive perch.” He tramped toward the garage.

  “Jenna.” Dolly’s eyelids fluttered. The tips of her eyelashes were moist. “You don’t need to accompany me, but I’m glad you’re here for mental support.”

  “I’ll hang in the kitchen, then,” I said. “Deputy, would you like some coffee?”

  “That would be great. Black.” He followed Dolly to the bedroom.

  “Dolly, want some?”

  “No, thanks.”

  I sauntered to the kitchen and prepared a pot of coffee. While it was brewing, I noticed that the ugly tomatoes in the colander—the tomatoes I was convinced that Melody had brought to Nick after Dolly told me her crop had failed—had aged quickly. Apparently, Alan knew nothing about chucking out rotten vegetables. Inside the refrigerator I noticed that a lemon, an aging zucchini, and an orange needed tossing. I smelled the milk and decided not to add it to my coffee. With Nick gone, perhaps Alan should consider asking the housekeep
er to keep on top of things for him.

  As I was pouring two mugs of black coffee, I eyed the shelves filled with photograph albums. Each had a small tab on it, denoting the year and subject matter. I did the math to deduce when Nick and Melody might have gone to Ren Camp together—somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years ago—and selected an album.

  To make sure Deputy Appleby didn’t walk in on my expedition, I decided to take him his mug of coffee first. I entered the master bedroom, which was richly decorated in gold and cream, and continued toward the walk-in closet to gauge how long it might take Dolly to collect her things. She was kneeling beside a multitude of shoes and a pile of clothes on the floor. Poor thing. No wonder she had felt bamboozled by Nick’s rejection. She had literally moved in. She would need four or five suitcases to complete the task, not two.

  I handed the coffee to Appleby and said to Dolly, “Water?”

  “No, thanks.” Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  I fetched a couple of tissues from the master bathroom and brought them to her—she murmured her appreciation—then I returned to the kitchen and removed the albums from the shelf. If I got caught nosing around, I’d say I was passing the time while reminiscing about Nick.

  Flipping through the oldest of the albums, I saw many of the photos I’d seen on Nick’s Facebook page. I paused when I noticed a picture of Nick as the king of the camp. He was crowning a dark-haired girl queen. Half of her face was obscured, but upon closer inspection, I could tell it was Melody; the green eyes and the turned-up nose gave her away. She was gazing lovingly at Nick.

  As I perused a second album, I noticed more pictures of Melody, all in queenly regalia. In some, she stood in profile. In others, she coyly peeked over a shoulder. Was she camera shy or trying to avoid Nick, the photo buff, who was obviously smitten with her? In each of the shots, Melody was wearing a gold-toned gown that reminded me of the ones she had donned for the fair.

  A shiver ran through me as a realization hit me. The gold gowns also brought to mind the gown the Empress was wearing on the tarot card that my aunt had pulled up in a reading. Aunt Vera believed she had drawn the card for Hannah, but directly prior, she had been giving Melody a reading until Melody prematurely ended the session. In reverse position, the Empress card signified that the recipient was dealing with confusion, maybe even indecisiveness about the direction of a relationship. What if Melody had been the intended recipient of the fortune? Maybe she had been struggling with a confusing relationship, like the one with Nick, or, better yet, the one with her husband.

  No matter what the reason, my theory that Melody had visited Nick’s place to root through the albums and remove evidence of her secretive past fell flat. The albums were intact.

  I replaced the albums on the shelves and roamed the kitchen while sipping my coffee. I paused at Nick’s computer, which looked the same as it had the night he was killed. I read the Post-it notes again, trying to discern something—anything—from them.

  The to-do list was unimportant. The note saying Fix it, I decided, might have been a reference to mend the relationship with Melody. Maybe Nick had broken off their young romance and he’d wanted to beg her forgiveness. Or she had ended it, and he’d wanted a second chance. He’d suggested to Bailey and me that he needed to win a woman’s heart.

  The word heart stopped me cold. I snatched the note that read Get MEDS with the scrawled picture of a heart.

  Meds. That was the word Nick had uttered softly in the fair-speak instructional video that Rhett and I watched. I hadn’t understood it at the time, but now I was certain. Meds had to be a funky nickname for Melody Shannon. Meds. It denoted intimacy in a lifelong kind of way. Melody had been visibly upset that he’d used it.

  I traced my finger across the Post-it. Get MEDS . . . heart. The juxtaposition had to signify that Nick had loved her and meant to win her over. Had they been boyfriend and girlfriend as preteens? Did they break up and lose track of each other? Was that why she hadn’t recognized him as an adult? When did she meet Sean? When did they marry? I tapped the note again. Melody had dropped her maiden name. Why? As a matter of formality or anonymity?

  Bailey said Saturday that if Melody had something to hide, then why risk coming to the Renaissance Fair? I’d suggested Sean might have made that decision, and Melody followed his lead hoping that aging and a different hair color would be enough of a disguise to fool Nick.

  On the other hand, maybe she had wanted to be caught. By him.

  I recalled the day Sean came into the Cookbook Nook to pick up the swan salt and pepper shakers for his wife. He said she was at the fair, except Dolly hadn’t seen her there. Had Melody gone to the vineyard to see Nick? Bailey and I had met with him from 3:45 until 4:30 p.m. Hannah had gone to apologize at 5:00 p.m. Did Melody squeeze in a visit before Hannah arrived?

  How had she gotten there? Sean had driven a car to the shop. Then I recalled Pepper saying that Melody and Sean were sports buffs. Sean says exercise is good for the heart, she told me. I supposed Melody could have hoofed it up the hill. It isn’t a treacherous climb. Lots of people in Crystal Cove do it on a daily basis.

  I imagined the reunion. Melody arrived with a piece of pottery as a gift—a token of peace. She planned to chat about old times—maybe even reveal the truth, whatever the truth was—but in the end, she got cold feet, told Nick to back off, and left. But Nick, unwilling to accept defeat, telephoned Melody at Pepper’s house to request another meeting. Melody heard his voice via the speaker and answered. In no uncertain terms, he told her that he would find out why she was avoiding him. He would uncover her secret. Right then, Sean walked in. Seeing how flustered his wife was, he demanded she hang up. They argued. According to Pepper’s account, Melody swore to Sean that she wouldn’t tell Nick anything. She stormed out, saying she was going for a walk on the beach.

  Did she return to Baldini Vineyards and demand that Nick’s interest in her cease? Did he refuse? Was that when she lost it? She couldn’t let him reveal her secret, whatever it was. She seized the foot-shaped winepress and wailed at him. Before leaving, she realized Pepper’s home phone number was on Nick’s cell phone, so she wiped the Recent Calls list and smashed the cell phone.

  Catching sight of the to-do list attached to the computer made my breath snag: pepper, p/u napkin rings. What if my assumption when talking to Cinnamon at the café was right? What if Melody did kill Nick? What if she’d seen the note and, remembering that the rings in question were in Pepper’s workroom, told Cinnamon that was the reason why Nick had called the house?

  I revisited Pepper’s account of what she had overheard Sean and Melody arguing about. Sean said he was worried that if Nick found out—

  Found out what? I’d figured out her history with Nick. I’d figured out her opportunity for murder. What was her motive?

  “Jenna, we’re done, but I need your help,” Dolly shouted from the master bedroom.

  I hurried to her and skidded to a halt when I saw all the things piled on the floor that wouldn’t fit into her suitcases.

  “Guess I need some garbage bags,” she said sheepishly.

  I found a box of lawn and leaf bags in a cupboard beneath the sink in the utility room and withdrew three. As I stood up, I noticed the hat-and-coat rack. The gauntlet was missing, as I’d expected. Had any of the hats been taken? Had Melody put one on before fleeing on foot across Hannah’s property?

  Chapter 22

  While helping Dolly pack up the remainder of her things, I mentioned my theory about Melody and the missing gauntlet and the possibility of an unaccounted-for hat to Deputy Appleby. He didn’t get angry. He didn’t even offer a wisecrack. He said he’d pass my speculations along to his superior.

  After stowing Dolly’s suitcases and the additional garbage bags in her Camry—the car was crammed—I wished her luck with all the changes she intended to make in her life and reentered the Cookbook Nook. Three females in Renaissance Fair costumes were perusing the fair-themed cookbooks
—the few that were still around; we had sold out of nearly all of them. I asked the women if they needed help. Overcome with giggling, they didn’t reply. I concluded, from their red-faced and hushed conversation, that they were checking out some of the racier pictures in one of the nonfiction books I’d stocked. Low-cut bodices had been the rage back in the day.

  I joined Tina at the sales counter. She was whistling while cleaning the cash register with a feather duster.

  “Why are you so chipper?” I stowed my purse under the counter and took stock of the sales receipts for the morning.

  “We have a new teacher at the culinary school. He’s so-o-o much better than the other teacher, who”—she lowered her voice—“was kicked out for making an inappropriate advance.”

  I wrinkled my nose.

  “Mm-hm. I agree. The powers that be caught him with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.” She mimed the action and whacked her wrist. “This new one, though, he’s so handsome. When he’s not cooking, he surfs or runs or even rides his bike. He’s teaching us all sorts of techniques, like deglazing and dredging. Next, he’s going to show us how to make chocolate. Ooh, ooh”—she wriggled her fingers—“and we learned a new term last night: to seize. It means water gets into the chocolate and causes it to become stiff and clumpy. Isn’t that the coolest term? To seize.” She thrust the feather duster like a sword. “Seizing is a no-no.”

  I sidled around her. “I think a certain someone has a crush on a certain teacher.”

  “Uh-uh, no way. He’s twice my age. Besides, don’t you remember that I have my eye on someone?”

  “Right. The cute messenger.”

  “FYI, Bailey said she’ll be back in a sec. She went to get a latte before she meets with Alan Baldini to talk about wedding plans. She’d planned to go to the vineyard, but he called and said he’d come here instead. He has errands to run in town. Your aunt”—Tina scanned the shop—“must be in the storage room.”

  “Too-ra-loo,” Aunt Vera said, appearing from the breezeway carrying a sin-in-a-cup.