A Wrinkle in Thyme

by Sarah Fox

  What wasn’t so clear was his possible motive. While I volunteered at the museum, I never witnessed any arguments or altercations between Dean and Jane. Of course, there were probably times when Dean was there when I wasn’t. Still, I’d never detected any animosity or tension between them.

  Brett and I had caught Dean skulking around the museum the night before Winnifred found Jane’s body. Whatever his reason for being at the museum that evening, I didn’t think it was an honorable one. Maybe Jane had interrupted whatever he’d shown up to do. There was a good chance Dean thought the museum would be empty at that time of day. Jane’s presence could have surprised him, and if she’d caught him in the act of…something, maybe he’d decided to silence her.

  That theory wasn’t much more than speculation, though. I needed to find out more about Dean and why he might have been at the museum that evening if I wanted to figure out if my theory held any water. The problem was that I didn’t want to go anywhere near Dean. Anything I could dig up about him would have to come either from the Internet or people who knew him.

  I’d still have to be careful. I didn’t want anyone reporting back to Dean that I suspected him of killing Jane. Even if he wasn’t the murderer, I didn’t doubt that such information would put me in danger.

  I also needed to find out more about Angus Achenbach. He was angry enough to lash out at Jane physically. What I needed to know was whether he had the opportunity to commit the crime.

  The same was true with Evangeline. She’d hosted the charity gala that night, but since I didn’t know exactly when Jane was killed, I couldn’t say if the gala provided Evangeline with an alibi or not. I still had trouble picturing Evangeline getting her hands dirty by killing someone, but I couldn’t discount her entirely. Maybe she’d hired someone to murder Jane. That seemed unlikely as well. A hired killer probably would have taken a weapon to the museum rather than grabbing whatever was on hand. I figured the murder probably wasn’t planned in advance.

  As the lunch rush dwindled down, a welcome distraction arrived at the pancake house in the form of my friend Lisa Morales. When I saw her come in the door, I rushed over to greet her with a hug.

  “I was going to head home for lunch,” she said as she returned my hug, “but I had a sudden craving for Ivan’s mocha mascarpone crêpes.”

  “Can’t Ivan make crêpes for you anytime?” I asked as she took a seat at a free table.

  Lisa and Ivan had been dating for a while now.

  “He could,” she said, tucking her wavy, dark hair behind her ear, “but this way I get to visit you.”

  I smiled. “I like your reasoning.”

  I relayed Lisa’s order to Ivan and returned with the coffee pot. I glanced around and decided I could spare a few minutes to sit and chat.

  “How have you been?” I asked. Although we exchanged text messages regularly, I hadn’t seen my friend face-to-face in nearly a week.

  “I’ve been fine, but how about you? Are you feeling better now that Tommy’s safe?”

  “Much better.” I’d filled her in on that story during one of our text exchanges. “And if I can find a new server and someone to help Ivan in the kitchen, things should be good.”

  “You’ll find someone soon.”

  “I hope so. I know it’s hard for Ivan to take on the whole workload himself. How is he handling it?” I knew Ivan would never complain to me, even if things were getting to be too much.

  “He’s mostly been concerned about Tommy. I think he’s finding work more tiring than usual, but he can handle it for the time being.” She frowned, her dark eyes growing troubled.

  “What is it?” I asked, worried.

  She hesitated before speaking again. “It’s probably nothing.”

  “But?” I prodded.

  “The other day, I asked Ivan if he wanted to have dinner together after I’d finished work. He said he couldn’t because he needed to go to Port Angeles.”

  “Okay.” I didn’t see why any of that would trouble her.

  “He didn’t say why he was going. Normally he’d tell me. This time he seemed…a bit mysterious.”

  “Did you ask him why he was going?”

  “No,” Lisa said. “I had a feeling he didn’t want to tell me, so I didn’t push.”

  “But now you’re worrying about it.”

  “I can’t help but wonder if he was going to the doctor or the hospital. What if something’s wrong and he hasn’t said anything because he doesn’t want to frighten me?”

  “Is this the first time he’s gone somewhere without telling you why?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then it’s probably nothing to get worked up about.” I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “If you’re really concerned, ask him about it.”

  “I don’t want him to think I don’t trust him because I do.”

  “I think he knows that.”

  She sighed. “I’ll try to let it go. If it happens again, then I’ll ask him and see what he says.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing you need to worry about,” I said, hoping that was true.

  “You’re probably right.” She didn’t sound entirely convinced, but she also didn’t look quite as troubled as before. She rested her arms on the table, leaning in closer and lowering her voice as she changed the subject. “How’s your murder investigation coming along?”

  “I haven’t made much progress, and I feel a bit guilty about that,” I confessed. “I was so concerned about Tommy that I didn’t give Jane’s murder much thought until yesterday.”

  “Don’t feel guilty,” Lisa said. “That’s totally understandable.” She regarded me closely. “But now that you have started thinking about it?”

  I spoke quietly so that no one would overhear me. “I have a few suspects. Do you know Dean Vaccarino or Angus Achenbach? They’re at the top of my list.”

  “I know who they are, but that’s about it.” Lisa took a sip of coffee. “We don’t move in the same circles.”

  “Thank goodness for that. Neither one is a nice guy.” I thought back over everything I’d heard or witnessed in the past week or two. “How about Adya Banerjee? Do you know her?”

  “She’s in the Zumba class I’ve been taking on Tuesday evenings.” Lisa dropped her voice to a whisper. “You think Adya could be a killer?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said, “but I saw her at the grocery store last week. She was on her phone, complaining to someone about Jane.”

  “Right. They both work at the community center.” Lisa frowned. “Well, worked, in Jane’s case.”

  A bell dinged in the kitchen. I told Lisa I’d be right back and hurried to the pass-through window to fetch her crêpes.

  My stomach grumbled as I set the plate in front of her. I hadn’t yet had a chance to eat lunch myself.

  Lisa must have heard my stomach’s complaint. She pointed her fork at me. “You should grab something for yourself.”

  The pancake house would close for the day in about half an hour, and the crowd of diners had thinned considerably. I decided I could take Lisa’s advice, so I made another quick trip to the kitchen, returning with a slice of the frittata and a fruit salad for myself.

  Thyme for Breakfast Frittata featured zucchini, mushrooms, and bell peppers, as well as feta cheese, dill, and thyme. Ivan cut it into generous slices, and it made for a delicious and satisfying meal.

  “I was going to say that I think Adya is harmless,” Lisa said once I was sitting down again, “but she did gain from Jane’s death.”

  “How so?” I asked before taking a bite of my food.

  “She got Jane’s job at the community center.”

  “Did she?” That was interesting. I speared a piece of cantaloupe with my fork. “That’s one of the things Adya was complaining about when I saw her at the grocery store. She though
t the promotion should have been hers.”

  Lisa picked up her coffee mug and met my gaze. “And now it is.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lisa didn’t stay at The Flip Side much longer. She finished up her crêpes and then stopped by the kitchen to see Ivan. Soon after, she returned to her job at a lawyer’s office on Main Street.

  I now had three solid suspects and a possible fourth in Evangeline Oldershaw-Hobbs. Maybe I even had five suspects. I considered whether Frankie Zhou deserved a closer look, but I soon discounted the idea. For the moment, anyway. I didn’t think he would have wanted to harm Jane.

  Impatience hummed through my bloodstream. I’d told Lisa that I felt guilty about not giving much thought to Jane’s murder, and that was true, but I also felt guilty for not doing much to try and solve her murder. It wasn’t my job, of course, but normally mysteries attracted me like a powerful magnet, and I couldn’t stop digging until I found the answers I was looking for. With Jane’s murder, I’d been too distracted to do much sleuthing, but she deserved justice, and if there was anything I could do to help, I wanted to do it.

  As I closed up the pancake house at two o’clock, I resolved to start my investigation that very afternoon. My plans got derailed almost right away. I was finishing up the last of the cleaning in the dining room when someone knocked on the front door.

  The interruption disappointed me until I recognized Logan on the other side of the glass. I hurried over to let him inside.

  “Logan, thanks for coming by,” I said as I opened the door for him. “I gather Sienna talked to you?”

  Logan pushed his sandy blond hair off his forehead. “She said you could use some help in the kitchen.”

  “That’s right. Ivan’s assistant is injured, and I was hoping to hire more staff even before that happened. I take it you’re interested?” I figured that was a safe assumption since he’d shown up at The Flip Side.

  “Definitely.” He held up his phone. “I’ve got a copy of my resume. You can look at it on my phone, or I can email it to you.”

  “Emailing it would be great.” I rattled off The Flip Side’s address. “Do you have some time right now?”

  “Sure,” he said as he tapped his phone, sending the email. “I’m free for the rest of the day.”

  “Great. Do you know Ivan Kaminski?”

  “I know he’s your head chef, and he was one of the judges at the amateur chef competition last spring.” Logan had competed in that event. “I’ve never actually met him, though.”

  “Why don’t we change that right now?”

  I led the way into the kitchen. Ivan was cleaning the grill, but he looked up when the door swung open.

  “Ivan, this is Logan Teeves. Logan, Ivan Kaminski.”

  Ivan wiped his hands on a towel before holding one out to Logan.

  “Nice to meet you, chef,” Logan said when he shook Ivan’s offered hand.

  “Could you give Logan a quick rundown of how you do things here?” I asked Ivan.

  He gave a curt nod. I hoped Ivan’s gruff ways wouldn’t put off Logan.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll be in the office.”

  I headed out of the kitchen, listening as Ivan’s deep voice faded to a rumble on my way down the hall.

  In the office, I accessed The Flip Side’s email account and scanned Logan’s resume. I knew he was a good kid, and, as Sienna had told me, he already had experience working in a restaurant. As far as I was concerned, he could start work at the pancake house on the coming weekend, but I wouldn’t make that decision official until Ivan had a chance to weigh in. He was the one who’d be working closest with Logan.

  I rejoined Ivan and Logan in the kitchen, and Logan left a short while later after I promised to be in touch with him about the job soon.

  “So?” I said to Ivan once we were alone. “What do you think?”

  “He’ll do,” Ivan said as he hung pots on their hooks above the large island.

  “That’s all?” I wasn’t sure if he was just being Ivan, or if he wasn’t all that impressed with Logan.

  “He’ll do well,” Ivan amended.

  The answer wasn’t any less brusque, but this time I detected a hint of approval in Ivan’s expression.

  Relief eased the tension that had gathered in my shoulders.

  “Thank goodness,” I said. “Hopefully, he can start on Saturday. And I have more good news.”

  “About the pancake house?” Ivan guessed.

  I nodded. “When I checked The Flip Side’s email to download Logan’s resume, I found two responses to our job postings, one for the kitchen opening and one for the server position.”

  Ivan hung the final pot. “Everything will work out fine.”

  Now that things were finally in motion, I could cautiously agree with him.

  Before leaving the pancake house, I phoned Logan and officially offered him a part-time job at The Flip Side. He accepted readily, allowing me to breathe easier. When I left the restaurant, I even had a spring in my step. Lately, I’d had a lot of plans for the future formulating in my head. At times I found it overwhelming to think about all the possibilities that lay ahead of me, but now that I was putting some of the plans into motion, I felt more in control, more relaxed.

  I really wanted to talk to Brett, though. In between thoughts of Tommy’s accident, Jane’s murder, the missing letters, and pancake house business, I’d revisited the conversation I’d had with Sienna the night before. Listening to her voice her fears about the changes she faced in the near future had given me some new insight into things I’d been thinking about in recent weeks. Things I really wanted to talk to Brett about.

  He wouldn’t be home from work for another couple of hours, so I decided to kill some time by heading into town to pick up some bread at the bakery. When I reached Wildwood Road, I paused to wait for a couple of cars to drive by. I was about to cross when another vehicle came zooming along at high speed. I quickly hopped back onto the grassy verge as a flashy red convertible shot by with a toot of its horn and a wave from the driver.

  By the time I registered that it was Richard and Evangeline in the Ferrari convertible, the car had already disappeared around a bend in the road. Richard had been driving way too fast, but that wasn’t unusual. I remembered what Brett had said about the couple enjoying the attention they got from speeding around town in such an expensive car. I didn’t doubt that was true.

  It wouldn’t have surprised me if Richard had been the one to run Tommy down, considering his careless driving, but the Ferrari didn’t match the description Tommy had provided of the suspect vehicle.

  Pushing thoughts of Richard and Evangeline aside, I crossed the now-clear street and resumed my journey to Marielle’s Bakery. When I arrived, there was one customer at the counter and two others seated at one of the small round tables off to the side, enjoying coffee and some freshly baked goodies. Marielle was busy serving the woman ahead of me, but she sent me a quick smile, which I returned. I realized a second later that the customer in front of me was Winnifred Woodcombe.

  When Winnifred had paid for her purchases, I spoke to her.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Woodcombe,” I said as she picked up her bag of bread and croissants.

  “Marley,” she said with a smile as she faced me. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “You too,” I returned.

  “Do you have a moment to talk after you place your order?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said, my curiosity awakening.

  “I’ll wait over here then.” She nodded at one of the vacant tables.

  I chatted with Marielle as she fetched me a loaf of brown bread and placed half a dozen of her scrumptious butter tarts in a small box. On the spur of the moment, I asked her to add two croissants to my order. Seeing Winnifred buying some had given me
a sudden craving.

  After I’d paid for my purchases, I joined Winnifred at the table by the window. She’d leaned her silver-handled cane against the wall. Now that I saw it up close, I realized the handle was in the shape of an eagle’s head.

  “I wanted to chat with you,” she said, drawing my attention away from her cane, “because when we last spoke, you seemed so interested in the letters Jane found.”

  I almost cringed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

  “Oh, no, dear.” Winnifred waved off my concern. “You weren’t at all. I take a great interest in things from the past myself, whether they’re related to my family or not.”

  I relaxed into my seat, relieved that my curiosity hadn’t annoyed her. “Did Jane tell you she thought the letters were written by Jack O’Malley?”

  “She did. If she was right, that makes the finding all the more exciting. I can’t even imagine which one of my ancestors he could have been writing to.”

  “I didn’t know about Jack O’Malley before,” I admitted, “but he sounds like an interesting character.”

  “He certainly was. He was a thief—and a very successful one—but also a charming and handsome fellow, by all accounts.”

  “I’d like to learn more about him,” I said. “I love stories from the past.”

  “We have that in common. Which is why I wanted to invite you to come with me to visit my cousin Dolly this afternoon. You see, Dolly is the one who donated the box that the letters were in. Jane told me as much over the phone before her death.”

  I sat up straighter. “So Dolly might know what was in the letters?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping. Although Dolly has always been a bit…scatterbrained, so we mustn’t get our hopes up too high.”

  I tried to rein mine in, but they’d already taken off toward the sky. “I’d love to go with you.”

  “Wonderful,” she said with a smile. “Are you free right now?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Winnifred pushed back her chair. “Then let’s go pay Dolly a visit.”