The design settled, Dixie went off to tackle her cookie-making.
I refilled my cup and then gave the sheriff a call before I dug in on the office work. Frenchie was perfectly happy to sit at my feet and without interruption, I was able to get a lot accomplished. I was surprised at the time, but more than ready for a break when Dixie popped back in and suggested lunch.
“Do you think Frenchie will be okay here on her own?” Remembering the chocolate mousse incident, I was concerned there were so many ingredients in the kitchen and the storeroom that might be harmful.
“Back in the carrier she goes.” Dixie reached down and patted the dog. “But first, let’s do a potty break.”
“Good idea.” I picked up the pink leash.
“I’ll take her.” Dixie held out her hand. “I don’t mind.”
“Thanks.” I handed over the leash. “I’ll shut down here.”
They were back in a few minutes and Frenchie didn’t fuss at all about going into her carrier. I slid the door closed and waved good-bye. We went out the front.
The Red Hen Diner was not even a full block away.
“Cluck” the door chime announced as we entered. “Cluck”—there were two more groups behind us. The diner was busy today. No surprise, really, as the food was a good as the chicken decor was kitschy.
We seated ourselves, sliding into a booth. The head chick, Toy herself, bustled over with two waters and lots of questions.
“What’s the latest on the murder at Arbor House?” She slid into the booth beside Dixie.
“Like we said the other night, we don’t even know for sure that it wasn’t an accident.” Dixie took a sip of her water.
“It could still turn out to be hunters,” I added, reaching for the menu that Toy handed to me. “It might have been just a horrible accident.”
“That’s not what I heard.” She handed another menu to Dixie.
“What did you hear?” I looked at her over the insert that listed today’s Chicken-Lickin’ Specials.
“I know you said the sheriff’s still calling it a ‘suspicious death.’” She actually did air quotes. “That sounds like a murder to me.”
“They have to call it that until they can rule out foul play.” I suddenly realized I sounded like I’d watched too many Mystery Channel shows.
“Right.” She stood. “What’ll you have?”
Dixie ordered the chicken fried chicken and I opted for crispy chicken club sandwich. I glanced at my step-tracker.
“Calculating how many steps to offset the club?” she asked.
“Guilty.” I would take Frenchie on a walk when we got back to the office and after a few blocks of that she hopefully would be willing to nap the rest of the afternoon. Then when I got home, I’d take her out again. Maybe this situation, with having a dog I was responsible for walking, was just the ticket to keep me moving.
“When we get back, I’ll call Gwen to check in and see if we can get something scheduled to go over the table of contents with them. I’d like to get it set because I’ve got that band group who want to see a proposal and I need to get that scheduled as well.”
“A good problem to have, right?” Dixie shifted as Toy brought our drinks: iced tea for me and lemonade for Dixie.
“It is,” I agreed.
It’d been slow going getting the business started, and now we were beginning to get some traction. Mostly referrals from previous clients, which was great. That meant that the cookbooks we’d done had been successful.
Our food arrived quickly. Another reason the Red Hen Diner was so successful. Great food and quick service. Toy stopped by to refill our drinks, but was thankfully too busy to stop with more questions.
“I keep thinking about the morning I found Colette,” I said between bites.
“I know, Sugar. That must have been awful.” Dixie stopped her fork halfway to her mouth.
“It was,” I agreed. “But that’s not what I mean. I keep trying to remember where everyone was at the time.”
“You’re still leaning toward family members if it doesn’t turn out to be an accident?”
“The place is so isolated, who else could it be?” I put my sandwich down. “If there’d been any strangers around, the local folks would have noticed.”
“You mean like that Shorty guy?” Dixie asked.
“Exactly.”
“As far as the family members go, I don’t know why they’d want to kill the grandson’s fiancée, but not everyone was up at that time of day.”
“You’re right.” I remembered the siblings, J.J., Jezzie, and Jonathan were all in the downstairs porch area and I’d told Sheriff Terry that. “Who was up?”
“I hadn’t left our room yet, so I don’t really know.”
“When Jonathan had me come upstairs, Gwen and Hilda were in the kitchen. I didn’t see Theo or Lucinda.”
“Still.” Dixie cut a bite-sized piece of her chicken. “No reason to want her dead.”
“You’re right, of course.” I picked up my sandwich again, a challenge as the layers were thick and the lettuce kept sliding out. “It’s got to be an accident. That’s all there is to it.”
We didn’t stick around too long at the diner because we didn’t want to tie up a booth when they were so busy. Once we were done, we paid and headed back across the square to Sugar and Spice Cookbooks.
Back at the office, I took Frenchie for her walk, heading away from the square so that we could stretch our time a bit.
My tracker showed we were racking up the points and, in fact, at this pace I’d be able to have one of those quilt cookies
The afternoon went quickly as Dixie finished off her cookies for the Quilting Time folks, and I worked on laying out the sections of the Arbor family cookbook and sorting out which recipes she was recommending for photos.
We usually did photos of the various dishes for section breaks. Doing pictures with more recipes drove up the printing costs and most of our projects were fundraisers. But not this time. In this case, I wondered about using family photos for the different chapters. I couldn’t wait to see what Max had come up with from the formal pictures. Once I’d seen those, I’d have a better idea.
I made a few phone calls. Letting Liz know what I had in mind and listening to her suggestions, made the Arbor House project clearer in my mind. I also took a call from another group, this one a sorority, with an interest in getting pricing on doing a cookbook.
When Dixie had a break, I asked her to come and take a look at what I’d laid out and with a few changes we decided on breaking the book into: the Quiche That Started It All, Breakfast and Brunch, Soups and Lunches, Family Dinners, and Desserts. Five simple sections. We had enough recipes to have six or seven in each of the chapters, with the exception of the first one. It seemed only right since the business had been started with quiche that it star in its own section.
I hoped the family would be okay with the inclusion of family photos. The cookbook’s purpose was to preserve family recipes and the pictures would help tell that story. I still thought there might be some commercial appeal, but that wasn’t what they’d hired us to do, so I’d leave that decision up to them.
* * * *
Arriving home, I dropped my mail on the table, hoping it was safe from flying cats this time. Ernest sat on the staircase watching me. I set down the crate and opened it so Frenchie could get out. She stayed inside.
“Okay, whenever you’re ready.” I reached inside and rubbed her head.
Parking my handbag and my briefcase by the couch, I headed to the kitchen to see what I could find for dinner. It would be nothing as elaborate as what we’d had at Arbor House the day before, that was for sure.
First off, my cupboards and my refrigerator were pretty bare. With the previous weekend at the B and B, I hadn’t shopped for groceries.
Secondly, my cooking skills leave a lot to be desired. Dixie is the cook in the business and thank goodness for that. I can make a mean grilled cheese or a hardy Crock-Pot chili, but the fancy recipes we collected were beyond my skill set.
I looked through the pantry and finding nothing for inspiration, opted for the aforementioned grilled cheese.
I filled Ernest’s dish while my sandwich was grilling. Then I opened a can of Frenchie’s special food and put it in her dish. She must have recognized the sound because she trotted into the kitchen, her nails clicking on the floor.
Ernest followed, keeping to the outside of the room, sliding against the wall, and then leaping to the table when I wasn’t looking.
“Enough drama, you two.” I flipped my sandwich and got out a plate.
After I’d cleaned up my dishes, I got out my notes from the time I’d spent with Lucinda talking about genealogy. At her suggestion, I looked into some online resources. The website that helped locate graves was fascinating. I looked up the cemetery Dixie and I had discovered down the road from Arbor House.
Talk about a rabbit hole, by the time I came up for air it was way past my bedtime and my eyes were blurry from all the screen time. I made a few notes about some sites I wanted to follow up on, shut down my computer, and headed upstairs to get ready for bed.
* * * *
When I came downstairs the next morning, Frenchie was waiting by the door expectantly. She had adapted to her new routine pretty quickly. I had not. I couldn’t walk the dog in my pajamas.
I’d developed a habit of coming downstairs and starting the coffee, plopping down in a chair to wait for it, and having a bit of wake-up time with my cat and my coffee. Waiting for the caffeine to kick in.
From the dance Frenchie was doing at the front door, that was not an option.
“Hang on just a minute,” I told her. “I’ll be right back.”
I dashed back upstairs and threw on some clothes, hurried back down, clipped on her leash, and headed out.
Ernest watched balefully from my chair.
What, no cuddle time?
The message was as clear as if he’d said it aloud.
“Sorry.” I blew him a kiss. “We’ll be right back.”
After a quick walk down the block and back, Frenchie and I headed back to the house.
I opened the door and walked in. Ernest looked up, a shredded tangle of light blue yarn in his mouth.
“Oh, no, Ernest. What do you have?”
It was the blue sweater from Frenchie’s crate and Ernest was dragging what was left of it across the floor. He would drag and then pounce on it, claws out, like it was a big blue fluffy mouse. The sweater unraveled more with each pounce.
“Oh, no, you don’t. That is not yours.” I lunged for the sweater, tangling myself in Frenchie’s leash and skidding on my knee across the floor.
I came to a halt, rubbing my knee, which was okay, except for an angry rug burn.
“Ernest, you are in big trouble.” Picking up the remains of the sweater, I checked it over.
Angora wool, the label said. Probably expensive, like Theo’s Italian leather shoes.
It had been kind of a shame to use something so beautiful as a comfort item for a dog, but I was sure Colette would have been fine with it.
I held it up. Greer was a knitter; maybe she could help me piece it back together. As I got to the part that was still intact, it was heavier than I thought it would be. I patted it down and realized there was a coin purse tucked in the pocket.
“Well, that would do it,” I said to the two animals who were now watching me closely— Frenchie by my side, Ernest from across the room. I opened the clasp of the coin purse and peered in. A few coins, a single earring, and a folded piece of notebook paper. Expecting a grocery list, I unfolded the paper.
YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER. I WILL NEVER STOP HUNTING YOU.
Bold letters marched across the page.
I dropped the note.
Scrambling to my feet, I grabbed my phone, dropped it, picked it up and dialed Sheriff Terry.
As I waited for him to answer, I tried to figure out who might have been threatening Colette, if Theo had known anything about the threats—and, also, how I was going to explain why the note was in my possession.
Chapter Twelve
I made some coffee and poured myself a cup. I carefully moved the note from the floor to the table using salad tongs from the kitchen.
I knew I’d already handled it, but I didn’t want to make things worse. I hadn’t gone upstairs to change, afraid to damage the note by carrying it around and afraid to let it out of my sight. Who knew what my Animal House companions might do if left them unattended?
The knock on the door made me jump, even though I’d known Terry was on his way. I let him in and led him to the kitchen table.
“It’s right there.” I pointed. “You can use the tongs if you want.”
He picked it up by the edge and read it. “And it was where?”
“Inside a coin purse in the pocket of Colette’s sweater.” I pointed at the pile of blue knit that had been a sweater and the coin purse that I’d placed on the table beside the note.
“And you have Colette’s sweater why?” He dropped the note on the table.
“Because Theo thought it might help Frenchie,” I explained. “You know, something with Colette’s scent to comfort the dog.”
“I hate to ask, but how in the Sam Hill did you end up with the dog?” His cheek twitched and I could tell he was resisting a grin.
I explained about Theo and the biting and the shoes. And no one at Arbor House really being interested in the dog.
“It’s just until they can figure things out,” I finished.
“Okay, back to the sweater.” Terry shook his head. “We went through all of her personal effects looking for any clues about her family. I don’t understand how forensics missed this.”
I’d been thinking about that while I’d waited for the sheriff to arrive. “Before you dress down the forensics crew, consider this: When I helped Hilda pack up Colette’s room I didn’t see this sweater. That makes me wonder if Theo hadn’t taken it and put it in with the dog before they arrived on the scene.”
“I told the family not to touch anything.” He paused. It was clear they hadn’t taken his request all that seriously. I imagined he was wondering what else they’d ignored.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“Please.” He placed his knuckles on the table, leaned over the note, and looked at it again. “It could be male or female. It’s hard to tell with the printing.”
I handed him the cup. “I’m guessing the note sort of makes it seem less likely that Colette’s death was accidental.”
“Yep.” He took a gulp of coffee. “It sure does.”
He picked up the coin purse and dumped out the coins, the solitary earring, and a necklace I hadn’t noticed when I’d fished out the note.
He held it up by the chain to look at it and I felt my heart clutch.
I’d seen a necklace just like that not but a day ago. It was just like the half-heart necklace that the photographer, Libby, had worn.
It could be a coincidence, but…
Once I was able to speak, I filled Terry in on the girl, Libby, who’d been at Arbor House, what I could remember of her appearance, and the fact that she’d been upstairs a little longer than seemed necessary. And that I couldn’t prove it, but I thought she’d been in a room other than the bathroom.
“The family didn’t know her?” he asked.
“No one acted like they did. Max talked to her more than anyone,” I told him. “They were out walking around taking photos and then they also conversed about photography. It seemed like she was pretty knowledgeable, not like it was just a cover, but who knows.”
“I’ll give Max a c
all.” Terry dropped the necklace back in the coin purse and then bagged all the items.
* * * *
After the sheriff left, I called Dixie and filled her in, letting her know I’d be a bit late into the office. Then I showered and dressed. I was packing up and getting ready to head out when my cell phone rang.
It was Greer.
“How nice to hear from you.” I suddenly remembered that the last time we’d talked we’d made plans for lunch.
Good grief, what day was it?
“I was calling to check and see if we were still on for lunch today.”
I could picture her in my mind. Like me, she was also probably on her second or third cup of coffee. She’d be drinking hers from her favorite cup, a sunny yellow one with the words Cup of Happy on the side. That was Greer in a nutshell. Circumstances aside, she’d decided to be happy.
“Of course, we’re on for lunch,” I answered.
“I wasn’t sure. I know you’re busy.” I could hear the click as she put her cup down. “I made that chicken salad that you like.”
“Not too busy for lunch.”
“That’s great. I can’t wait to hear about your latest investigation.”
“They’ve not yet ruled it a murder. And I’m not investigating. But I’ll fill you in at lunch.”
“Great!” Her excitement came through the phone loud and clear.
“Do you mind if I bring a friend?”
“Not at all,” she answered. “Is it the handsome Max?”
“No, this is a furry friend,” I explained. “I’m dog-sitting a toy poodle and she doesn’t do very well being left alone with Ernest.”
“Sure, bring her along.”
“Okay, I’ll see you around noon.”
I loved my lunches with Greer. Despite the gap in our ages we liked a lot of the same things and she was always so upbeat. I was in need of a good dose of upbeat about now.
* * * *
When I finally got to the office Dixie was champing at the bit to know what the sheriff had to say about the note.
I filled her in and then after settling Frenchie in the office, I got to work in an attempt to make up for my mostly lost morning.
Quiche of Death Page 12