A Sprinkling of Murder (A Fairy Garden Mystery Book 1)

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  As the EMTs carted Emily to the ambulance, Gregory asked if he could accompany her. Summers told him to stay put. Then he asked me to fill him in on the details. As expected, he fetched his notebook, removed the rubber band, and started taking notes.

  My account came out in short bursts. Finding Emily on the floor. The salt lamp. The opened drawers. Nothing missing as far as Emily could see.

  Neither Summers nor Rodriguez cut me off.

  I suggested the possibility that Logan Langford might have a family secret, giving him ample motive to want Mick silenced. Then I mentioned the exchange I’d witnessed between Logan and the younger man, suggesting he might be the person dunning Logan for payment. I was about to offer more when I realized Fiona wasn’t around. I scanned the room. Where had she gone?

  “Did either you or Mr. Darvell touch the salt lamp?” Rodriguez pointed to it.

  “No, ma’am,” I replied.

  “No,” Gregory said.

  “About this younger man that you saw meeting with Logan...” Summers clicked his pen once, twice. “Any idea who he might be?”

  “No. He drove a green BMW. I didn’t catch the license plate.”

  Summers made a note.

  “Do you think we’re on the right track?” I asked.

  “We are not on anything,” Rodriguez chided.

  Summers held up a hand to her. “Chill.” He eyed me. “FYI, my tech people have agreed with Meaghan Brownie’s tech guy’s assessment. Your digital footprint is verifiable. You were where you said you were when Mick Watkins was murdered.”

  I sighed with relief. “Can I assume Pastor Li stopped by the precinct and also confirmed my alibi?”

  He nodded. “She did.”

  “May I tell my attorney I don’t need further assistance?”

  “Yes.” Summers turned to Gregory, ready to grill him.

  I tapped Summers’s arm. “Hold on, Detective. Have you interviewed Isabella Acosta yet?”

  “You no longer need to concern yourself with this case.”

  “I know, but have you?”

  Summers squinted. “Yes, she has a solid alibi. She was with a girlfriend drinking wine to douse her sorrow about her dog’s haircut. And, yes, the girlfriend corroborates that. Miss Acosta spent the night. Now, Mr. Darvell...” Summers faced Gregory and asked for his account.

  Gregory repeated everything I said, short of blaming Logan, seeing as he didn’t know the man personally. Gregory also mentioned the ice cream truck that Emily had heard. Summers ruled out the truck’s driver because Emily hadn’t been robbed and the attack appeared to be personal.

  When Summers completed his questioning, Gregory asked if he could now go to the hospital to be with Emily. Summers agreed. Gregory arranged for an Uber, and I returned to the shop, retrieved Pixie, and headed home.

  During one of my favorite dinners of white fish with a beurre blanc sauce and a crisp green salad, I thought again about Emily. Had she faked the attack? Could she have struck herself with the salt lamp? Was she guilty of killing her husband? She’d lied about her whereabouts to the police, and she’d lied about her injured hand. How many lies did it take before a jury would find her guilty?

  If Emily wasn’t the killer and she really had been attacked, was she still in danger? Would her attacker steal into the hospital to finish the deed?

  Seeing how tenderly Gregory had treated her, I was certain he wasn’t the attacker. In fact, I was pretty sure he was falling for her . . . because of the dog. Would Emily be ready for a new relationship so soon after her husband’s death? She had obviously loved Mick deeply, but his affair with Petra Pauli had created a rift in their marriage.

  While I was washing dishes, Gregory called to say Emily was sleeping well. In addition, he was sending me a text with a PDF attachment of the receipt for the cocktails he’d had with the head judge of the dog show competition. He made me swear not to ask the competition’s head judge for corroboration, for fear the man would give Shep’s spot to another contestant. Explaining that it wasn’t up to me, I made him promise he would share his alibi and the proof of it with the police. Reluctantly, he agreed.

  After we ended the call, I thought about Fiona. She hadn’t been at the shop and she wasn’t flitting around my garden. Where was she?

  Chapter 22

  How to tell if a fairy is nearby: a strong scent of grass or violets.

  —Anonymous

  In the morning, feeling more rested than I had felt in days because I was no longer considered guilty of something I didn’t do, I downed a protein-rich fruit shake and then dressed in a cheery green smock dress and sandals, gathered up Pixie, and headed to work. The sun was shining. The air was crisp. Hearing the distant pounding of waves as they hit the sand, I urged my breathing to match the steady pace of the tide. Heaven.

  “You’re late,” Joss said as I strode into the shop.

  “I’m early. You’re earlier.”

  “We have the teacup fairy garden workshop coming up in a few days.” Joss inserted the feather duster she’d been using into its bin and brushed dust off her shiny orange blouse. “And the security people are starting this afternoon. Best to get a jump on gathering your workshop items just in case they have to take over the patio for longer than expected and we’re forced to hold the workshop inside. We have a lot of students for this one. Sixteen in all. I ordered an additional twenty teacups, in case there’s breakage.”

  “Did Petra sign up?”

  “Not so far.”

  As I gathered a bunch of teensy fairy figurines—we couldn’t use the larger sort for a teacup garden; scale mattered—Pixie circled my ankles and mewed.

  “I’m not sure where Fiona is,” I said, worry taking hold. Why had she flown away? With no explanation? Nudging my concern aside, I scratched Pixie’s head and said, “Help me come up with slogans for the teacup workshop.” I headed to the sales counter. Pixie trotted behind me. “I’d like the younger attendees in the crowd to have a memorable saying to take with them.”

  “Talking to me?” Joss asked.

  “No, to Pixie. Usually I work these things out with Fiona, but she’s MIA. Have you seen her?”

  Joss shook her head. “How about this saying? ‘May you touch stars, weave new dreams, and dance with the fairies in the moonlight.’”

  “I like it.” I jotted it on a notepad.

  “Or this? ‘Close your eyes and listen closely. You may hear a fairy.’”

  “Nice. Keep them coming.” I headed to the office.

  “Courtney!” Meaghan rushed in just as I rounded the desk. She skidded to a stop. Her hair was knotted in a messy bun. Her oversized silk blouse ballooned over her leggings. “I did what you asked.”

  “Which was?”

  “I finally talked to one of my friends who’s in the choir at Church of the Wayfarer. Guess what? Logan Langford was not there last Wednesday night.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, he was. For an hour. But then he left.” She frowned. “Did he honestly think no one would remember?”

  Huh. Detective Summers must have figured that out by now. Why wouldn’t he have—

  I balked. Why wouldn’t he have told me? Ha! As if. I was not on the police force. I was not his confidante. Summers wanted me to butt out. On the other hand, he had listened to my theory about Logan Langford at Emily’s house.

  “Call him,” Meaghan said.

  “Who? Detective Summers?”

  “Logan. Ask him to tea.”

  I glanced at Meaghan, expecting to see Fiona dousing her with fairy dust. No such luck. “Oh, sure. Ask him to tea and grill him about his alibi. Are you nuts?” Although I had done the same with Gregory Darvell. Not cool.

  “Be bold,” my pal said. “Isn’t that on your ways-to-improve-myself list?” She knuckled my shoulder. “Contact him and ask him to discuss the lease. Tell him you’ve heard rumors about him selling the courtyard, and you want to put your mind at ease. That should make him sympathetic.”
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  I plopped onto the desk chair, my happy mood fizzling. “Why me? Why not you? You’re half owner of Flair.”

  “Ziggy makes all the business decisions. I supply the creative juices.” She perched on the corner of the desk. “C’mon. You’re strong and courageous.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere. Go.” I aimed a finger at the exit. “Get out of here.”

  In the doorway, she said, “Yvanna told me Logan will be at the bakery at noon to pick up a cake.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “So you’ve already spoken to Yvanna about this?”

  She crossed her fingers. “We’re like best buds.”

  “You mean you’re both lily-livered chickens.”

  Meaghan cackled and breezed out the door.

  * * *

  Around noon, when there was a lull in customer traffic, I took a stroll through the courtyard and stopped in front of Sweet Treats. As promised, Logan Langford was inside by the register. The chimes above the door jangled as I entered.

  There were no customers other than Logan in line, although all three of the retro-pink stools were occupied at the pink counter. Yvanna, dressed in her uniform of pink hat and apron over white dress, was behind the glass display case.

  “Hey, Logan,” I said, “fancy seeing you here.”

  “Hello, Courtney. What’re you purchasing?”

  “I have a hankering for something new to serve at the tea this weekend. Yvanna is our weekend baker. What are you buying?”

  “That.” He pointed to the three-tiered chocolate cream birthday cake Yvanna was setting in a white box. “It’s for my nephew.”

  “How nice. How old is he?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  I gaped. “And he still celebrates?”

  “The whole family does.”

  Silence fell between us. Be bold, I imagined Fiona and Meaghan chanting.

  Drawing in a deep breath, I said, “Yvanna, will you please deliver a half dozen of your double chocolate chip cookies to the shop? And Logan, when you’re done here, come over so we can talk about the lease. I’ve got a lot of tea selections. You’re a tea guy, right?” I didn’t wait for a response from him. My suggestion was direct, leaving little room for a no.

  In the shop, I fetched some pretty floral napkins and set up a table on the patio. There were plenty of customers around. I could chat with a possible murderer and still be safe.

  Logan strolled in moments later carrying a decorative Sweet Treats bag, his cake box tucked inside. I asked Joss to bring in tea and showed Logan to our table.

  He set the bag beside his chair and took a seat. “What’s up?”

  Joss arrived with a tea caddy and a teapot filled with hot water. She set both on the table and moved away. Logan selected chamomile tea. I chose Earl Grey.

  As our teas steeped, I said, “I don’t know much about your family other than that you have a number of children, eleven grandchildren, and a few nieces and nephews.” Yes, I knew more. It was a small lie; I could sleep well at night. “Any deep dark secrets?”

  Logan sat taller. His gaze narrowed. “I thought you wanted to talk about your lease.”

  “Here you go.” Joss returned with a plate of the cookies I’d ordered from Yvanna. “Enjoy.” She moseyed away.

  I took a cookie. Logan didn’t.

  “Why are you prying, Courtney?” he asked.

  “You haven’t started one of the fairy gardens you promised to make, Logan. I thought if I knew more about you, I could help you come up with a few ideas.” I bit into my cookie. “Mmm. These are great.” I stirred my tea. “Did you hear Emily Watkins was attacked in her home last night?”

  “No.” Logan looked sincerely shocked. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s in the hospital.”

  “I’ll send flowers. Do the police know who did it or why?”

  “Not yet. It might have had something to do with Mick. It turns out he was writing a book—a thriller—about a wealthy man with a secret. It’s possible whoever attacked Emily might have wanted to steal Mick’s notes.” I was flying by the seat of my pants. Summers hadn’t bought that theory. “To keep the secret buried.”

  “It wasn’t me.” Logan stabbed the table with a fingertip. “The Langfords have a long, proud history in this town. No secrets. No skeletons in the closet.”

  “Good to know.” I polished off the cookie. “But you are in debt, aren’t you? Is a lender gouging you? Is that why you’re thinking of selling this courtyard?”

  Logan took a sip of his tea. “What have you heard?”

  “Sources say you plan to oust all the tenants. You started with Mick, except he wouldn’t budge.”

  “Now wait just a minute. I get what you’re implying, but you’re wrong. I wanted him out because I didn’t—” Logan set his cup down with a clack. “I don’t like his business. I’m not a pet person, unlike everyone else in Carmel.”

  “Why did you rent to him then?”

  “Because I needed tenants, and he was the first to climb on board. Plus, his credit score was excellent.”

  I ran a finger around the rim of my teacup. “Who is the young man who drives a green BMW?”

  He narrowed his gaze. “Why have you been spying on me?”

  “Because you stole into my shop the other night.”

  “I did no such—”

  “Don’t deny it. I was there. In the dark.” I sipped my tea. “Were you contemplating whether to trash it? Did you think you could intimidate me into canceling my lease?”

  His face paled and shoulders slumped. “Yes, but I realized if I did, the developer might not buy the property, thinking it had bad karma. So I left.”

  “Uh-uh. You ran out. You got spooked.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You yelled, ‘Ghost!’”

  His shoulders sagged. “I saw...” He jammed his lips together.

  “You saw what?” I asked, goading him.

  “Nothing.”

  “If you didn’t kill Mick, why lie about your alibi?” I leaned forward. “And don’t deny that, either. Oh, sure, you went to church. For one hour. Your time after that is unaccounted for.”

  “I lied because I was scared. You and others heard me arguing with Mick. I had motive.” He heaved a sigh and smoothed his thinning hair. “As for my real alibi? I was walking. On the beach. Alone. Trying to figure out what to do.” He folded his arms on the table. “Yes, I am in debt, big debt, because I made a promise to cover each of my grandchildren’s college tuitions for a year. I never dreamed there would be eleven. My grandfather put my siblings and me through college. Knowing I would run low on funds, I tried day-trading to augment my income, but I stunk at it. I lost big time. I borrowed—”

  “From a usurer.”

  Logan nodded. “He’s the one who’s gouging me. So, yes, I reached out to a developer. Selling one of the complexes would alleviate the problem. The developer is the one who wants all the tenants out. I started by pressing Mick, but—”

  “The young man in the BMW,” I said, cutting him off. “He’s the developer? He was acting pretty shady. What was the secret handshake you shared?”

  Logan smirked. “He’s not the developer. He’s my nephew. The one with the birthday. And the handshake was a fraternity handshake. He’s a Theta Chi, like me.” His eyes pooled with tears. “He’s a Silicon Valley whiz kid worth a few million dollars. He has agreed to bail me out.”

  “‘Langfords don’t quit; Langfords don’t fail,’” I quoted.

  “That’s our motto. Thanks to him, I can pay off my debt and won’t need to sell to the developer, so I’m not kicking out any of the courtyard tenants.” He sat taller, poised for another attack.

  “You should talk to the police. I would imagine they know by now that your alibi is a sham.”

  “I will.” Logan rose to his feet and picked up his bakery bag. “For the trouble I’ve caused you, I’ll give you one month’s rent free.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”
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br />   As he trudged out of the shop, I wondered who had killed Mick. If not Logan and not Gregory Darvell...

  Again I questioned whether Emily had whacked herself with the salt lamp to make it seem like she was a victim and not a killer. I considered Isabella Acosta, too. Would her friend have lied to provide an alibi? And what about Petra Pauli? Emily had written her saying she knew her secret in an effort to coerce her to leave town. Petra hadn’t left. Did sticking around exonerate her of Mick’s murder?

  Chapter 23

  For a fairy, as for humans, a book is worth more than gold.

  —Daryl Wood Gerber

  At two in the afternoon, a pair of middle-aged men from the security company showed up. One was nearly seven feet tall with Marine-trimmed hair. The other was shorter and scruffier. They had the specs for what they needed to accomplish and said they would start with the main showroom. I mentioned adding the bolt to the secret door on the patio.

  No problem.

  “It won’t be messy,” the taller one said. “You signed up for the wireless system. We’ll be in and out of your hair by end of day.”

  Despite his assurances, I wanted to move some of our products from the showroom to the patio so customers could continue to browse. Joss was on board, but we needed more helpers. I called Meaghan. She showed up as the workmen were laying out their equipment.

  Quickly, I circled the shop and apologized to customers for the inconvenience. As everyone migrated to the patio, Joss, Meaghan, and I transferred items: tea sets and wind chimes, aprons and garden tools. When I grabbed a few of the macramé plant hangers, I balked. Holding the rough hemp in my hand made me flash on Mick. If only the police could figure out what had made the mark on his neck.

  Due to the bustle, Pixie decided a safe spot was lying on one of the chairs on the patio. A customer with a calico set her cat on a nearby chair. Pixie raised her head, noting the intruder, and went back to sleep.

  As I was organizing the learning-the-craft corner, Fiona whooshed into view. “Courtney, what’s going on?”