by Sarah Fox
The windy, darkening weather had scared some of the tourists away, and there was still half a bottle of each cocktail remaining, so I didn’t need to worry about getting refills of the samples. When I stepped outside again, a fat raindrop hit me right on the top of my head, and several more followed after it. By the time I reached the footbridge, the rain was pouring down. I ran the remaining distance to the pub’s front door and ducked inside, smoothing back my damp hair with one hand.
As the door drifted shut behind me, the sky rumbled with thunder. With the worsening weather, it wouldn’t have surprised me if Aunt Gilda didn’t get any more visitors to the tent that day. I wouldn’t have been eager to wander around the festival during a storm. I much preferred being in the Inkwell, surrounded by its cozy character, my book collection, and friendly faces.
It turned out that a good number of tourists and locals felt the same way as I did. As the thunder continued to rumble and the rain pelted down outside the windows, the pub grew more crowded until we had a full house. The place was so busy that Mel ended up staying an extra hour after her shift ended. At least the roaring business meant I could afford to pay her for the extra time.
After darkness had fallen and Mel had left for the night, the crowd slowly thinned out. Most of the tourists had left, leaving a scattering of locals. When I returned to the bar after delivering a tray of pints to a table, I noticed Joey Fontana sitting on one of the stools.
“Sadie.” He saluted me with a pint Damien had served him.
“Joey,” I said with a hint of wariness.
“I heard your windows got egged.”
“You heard right.” I poured scotch into a glass and delivered it to a man at the other end of the bar.
“Between that, the gas can, and your tires getting slashed, it seems like someone doesn’t much like you,” Joey said when I returned. “Any idea who might have it in for you?”
“Not really.” I recalled the venomous stare Eleanor Grimes had aimed at me in the coffee shop and wondered—not for the first time—if she had some sort of grudge against me.
“Nobody’s seemed less than friendly since you arrived in town?” Joey pressed. From the way his dark eyes pierced into me, I wondered if he was trying to read my thoughts.
“I’m not going to publicly accuse anyone, if that’s what you’re hoping for.” I piled dirty glasses onto a tray and took them into the kitchen, loading them into the dishwasher before going back out to the bar.
Joey’s eyes zeroed in on me as soon as I reappeared.
“You know what goes on around this town,” I said to him. “Do you have any idea who might have something against me?”
“I have some thoughts on the matter.”
“Such as?” I pressed when he didn’t continue.
He flashed me a smile. “You know how this works. I can’t give my information away for free. I’ll need something in return.”
“Like what?” I asked warily, although I could easily guess the answer.
“That interview. About your ex.”
“I’m not going to help you dish out dirt on Eric.”
“I’m not looking for dirt. More of a human-interest angle. Plus a bit about you finding his body.” When I hesitated, he added, “Of course, maybe I’d be better off going to his family for information.”
“The last thing they need right now is for you to be hounding them.”
He shrugged, unconcerned. “There’s an easy way to avoid that.”
I gave in reluctantly. “Fine. You’ll get your interview. Now what do you know?”
He lowered his voice. “At first, I thought Grayson Blake might be the guilty party, but his feelings toward you seem to have changed in recent days.”
“We sorted out our differences before my windows were egged, so I’ve scratched him off my suspect list too.”
“What else have you two been sorting out?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He grinned. “Rumors.”
“What is it with this place and rumors?”
“Small town. What do you expect?”
“Whatever the rumors are, you should ignore them,” I advised. “Any other suspects?”
“Eleanor Grimes.”
So I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed that she didn’t much like me.
“What’s up with her?” I asked. “I don’t even know her, so why would she have something against me?”
“The Shady Creek Museum is Eleanor’s life. You’d think she’d given birth to it, the way she’s so devoted to it.”
“So?”
“So, when this building came up for sale, she wanted the town to purchase it so it could be the new home for the museum. But she didn’t have a chance to do anything about it before you snatched up the place from under her nose.”
“I didn’t snatch up anything from under anyone’s nose,” I said. “It was on the open market. I bought it fair and square.”
He held up a hand in surrender. “I know that, but Eleanor had her heart set on moving the museum here. At the moment, it’s in a nondescript building a couple of blocks off the green. This place, with all its history and character, would have been perfect.”
“It’s also perfect as a pub.”
“I happen to think it’s even more perfect as a pub.” He raised his pint glass in a salute and took a sip. “But, like I said, the museum is Eleanor’s life. And to top it off, she’s a teetotaler. So you can be sure you’re not on her list of favorite people.”
“But how do we find out if she’s responsible?” A light bulb went off in my head as soon as I asked the question. “Whoever the culprit is, they must have bought an awful lot of eggs recently.”
Joey nodded as if he’d been thinking along the same lines.
“We could ask at the grocery store if anyone’s bought an unusual number of eggs lately,” I suggested.
“That’s the first step,” Joey agreed. “But it might not get you any answers.”
“Why not?”
“There are plenty of people just outside of town who sell fresh eggs on their farms. Heck, whoever it is with an ax to grind might raise their own chickens and not have to buy them at all.”
My spirits deflated.
Joey drained the last of his beer and set down his glass. “But it’s a good place to start. And I know pretty much everyone in town. I’ll ask some questions.”
“Just remember that I’m not accusing anyone,” I said as he slid off his stool.
He gave me a two-fingered salute as he slapped some money onto the bar. “I’ll be by for the interview tomorrow.”
I wasn’t looking forward to that. Talking about Eric would be difficult, considering how we’d parted and the terrible end he’d met here in Shady Creek, but if it meant sparing his family from the badgering of at least one reporter, I’d find a way to get through it.
Even though Joey planned to ask around about the eggs, I itched to get out there and ask the same questions myself. Maybe I would, first thing in the morning. Until then, I’d enjoy my time here at the Inkwell.
* * *
First thing in the morning turned out to be more like mid-morning. Aunt Gilda had come over to the pub near closing time and waited while I finished up work and gathered up Wimsey so we could spend the night at her place again. With Aunt Gilda to feed him breakfast, Wimsey didn’t bother waking me up until almost nine o’clock.
By the time I’d showered, dressed, and eaten a bowl of oatmeal, the first two tour buses of the day had arrived in town, their passengers spilling out onto the green. Although it wasn’t currently raining, the sky was thick with dark clouds, and the rain had pounded against the roof of Aunt Gilda’s apartment all night long. No doubt the green was rather soggy now, but from what I could see out Gilda’s front window, that wasn’t stopping anyone from checking out the festivities.
Since Wimsey was sound asleep on the back of the couch when I was ready to leave, I decided
to let him stay there instead of taking him back to the mill for the day. I stopped in at the salon for a few minutes to let Aunt Gilda know that Wimsey was still upstairs, and to chat with her and Betty. I didn’t linger as long as I might have under normal circumstances because I was eager to get to the grocery store.
Although I was tempted to drop in at the Treasure Chest for a visit with Shontelle, I simply waved at her through the front window of her shop and kept going. She had several customers in her store at the moment anyway, so I figured we’d be better off catching up another time.
I did, however, stop at the bookstore on my way past, since I’d never made it there the day before. I’d left a sign-up sheet for the mystery book club with Simone, the shop’s owner, and I was happy to see that three people had added their names to the list. There were four other names on my list at the Inkwell, so the group now had seven interested parties—a great number to start with.
All I had left to do was to choose a book for the first meeting, set a date, and send out an e-mail to all the members with that information. Setting a date would be easy. Picking a book would be a much tougher task.
Despite my eagerness to get to the grocery store, I spent some time in the bookshop’s mystery section. No matter how much of a hurry I was in, I couldn’t leave a bookstore without at least a bit of browsing, and I really did want to choose a book for the club’s first meeting. The problem with that was the long list of great choices.
I’d go with a classic, I decided. The club’s meetings would take place in the Agatha Christie room at the Inkwell, so it seemed fitting to choose one of her books.
Ten minutes later, I finally settled on Murder on the Orient Express. Simone approved of my choice and assured me that she’d order in some additional copies so it would be easy for the club members to get their hands on one. With that task complete—and with a copy of Ellery Adams’s latest cozy mystery in my purse for my own enjoyment—I finally managed to get myself to leave the shop.
My plan was to set off to the south to visit the grocery store, but as soon as I stepped out on the sidewalk, I heard someone calling my name from the opposite direction. Rhonda, I realized, when I saw her waving at me. She headed my way, so I met her halfway along the street.
“Morning, Sadie.”
“Morning,” I returned. “What are you doing out and about at this time of day?” Normally, she’d be at work.
“Mr. Fournier sent me to get some coffee.”
“You’re not going to the Village Bean?” That’s where everyone in town got their takeout coffee, but she was going in the opposite direction from the coffee shop.
“Oh, I mean coffee to brew. Our supply at the office is almost gone. Mr. Fournier likes to be able to offer coffee to his clients.” She glanced around, but we were alone on the sidewalk. “Speaking of Mr. Fournier, did you find anything at his place?”
“Not a thing,” I said, not bothering to mention that my snooping mission had been cut short. Even if I’d had another hour to look around, I doubted I’d have found anything.
“So maybe he’s innocent?” She sounded hopeful.
“Or just not dumb enough to leave evidence around that could be used against him.”
Her face fell.
“Have the police talked to you since I told them about Mr. Fournier?”
“No.” She bit down on her lower lip. “Could I really be working for an arsonist and murderer?”
“I don’t know, but hopefully we’ll find out one way or the other before much longer.”
“Yes, either way, it’ll be best to know for sure.”
“If you’re in search of coffee, we’re probably going to the same place,” I said.
“You’re going to pick up some groceries?”
“Actually, I’m hoping to pick up a clue. If the person who egged my windows bought a lot of eggs at the store, maybe someone will remember them.”
“I heard about that incident.”
“Want to walk together?”
“Sure.”
We’d only taken a step or two when a frantic shout rang out somewhere behind us. I glanced over my shoulder and saw several people running in the direction of the village green. The looks on their faces sent a hum of alarm through me.
“I wonder what’s going on.” I abandoned my plan to visit the store and jogged toward the green.
I heard Rhonda following me at first, but then she fell behind. I didn’t slow my pace, and when I reached the green, I noticed that the festivalgoers had gathered in bunches, all of them focused on something to the north. When I looked over their heads, I noticed a dark cloud billowing up toward the sky.
I went cold all over, and my heart jumped into overdrive.
It was a cloud of black smoke, and it was coming from the direction of the mill.
Chapter 24
I darted around the crowd in front of me, splashing through puddles and over soggy grass. When I had a clear view of the mill, I saw dancing flames beneath the smoke.
I ran as fast as I could, charging across the street toward the footbridge.
“Sadie!”
Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me to an abrupt stop.
“Don’t go any closer,” Cordelia begged, still holding onto my arm. “It’s too dangerous.”
“But the fire!”
“I called for help. The fire department’s on the way.”
Sure enough, a siren wailed nearby. A second later, the first truck turned onto Creekside Road and rumbled toward the mill.
I remained frozen in place, unable to tear my gaze away from the fire engulfing the shed next to the pub. The walls were made of stone, but the fire was burning hungrily through the roof, sparks flying as the flames popped and crackled. The trees and grass were damp from the night’s rain, but I was still terrified that the fire would jump to the mill.
At least Wimsey was safely at Aunt Gilda’s.
“Sadie!”
I turned to see Shontelle running toward me.
“You’re okay?” she said. “You’re not hurt?”
I shook my head, struggling to get my numb mind to work. “I just got here. I spent the night at Gilda’s.”
“Wimsey?”
“Still at Gilda’s.”
Firefighters hurried past, and one yelled at us to move farther away from the fire. Even from across the creek, I could feel the heat of the flames, and the smoke was fouling the air with its acrid smell.
I allowed Shontelle to lead me across the street to the green, Cordelia following along next to us. Aunt Gilda appeared out of the crowd, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear.
“I’m okay,” I assured her when she rushed over to me. “It’s just the shed.”
For now.
“Thank God.” Aunt Gilda pulled me into a fierce hug. “How did this happen?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
That was the truth. I didn’t know for certain how the fire had started, but I had a strong suspicion that it wasn’t accidental. Whoever was behind all these incidents, they were getting bolder, the acts more dangerous and menacing. I shuddered and leaned against Aunt Gilda when she put her arm around me.
It was terrible, standing there watching the fire while fear kept my stomach churning. Every minute felt like an hour, but at last the firefighters extinguished the flames. There wasn’t much left of the shed—just a blackened stone shell—but at least the pub was safe, and my apartment too. And nobody was hurt. That was the greatest blessing.
With the fire now out, the crowd slowly dispersed. The fire crew kept working, dousing the remaining embers, with me unable to look away.
“Come on, honey,” Aunt Gilda said, her arm still around my shoulders. “Let’s go to the salon so you can sit down for a bit.”
Her voice helped to free me from the numbness that had settled over me. “Just a moment.”
Cordelia had started up the street toward the inn, but when I called her name, she turned back.
“You were the first one on the scene,” I said. “Did you see anyone near the shed?”
“No, I’m so sorry. The only people I saw were over on the green.”
Disappointment weighed heavily on my shoulders. “Thank you for calling the fire department.”
She reached out and squeezed my hand. “You’re welcome. I’m glad the fire didn’t do any more damage.”
“Me too.”
She went on her way, and I allowed Shontelle and Gilda to lead me across the green to the salon. Shontelle had to return to the Treasure Chest, and Aunt Gilda and Betty both had clients waiting at the salon, so I slumped into one of the chairs in the salon’s waiting area, not sure what else to do with myself.
Aunt Gilda made me a cup of tea before she got to work trimming her client’s hair, and I sipped at it slowly as the conversations in the salon blurred around me. Halfway through my cup of tea, I realized that I hadn’t prepared the cocktail samples for the day. I almost forced myself to get up and go over to the pub, but in the end, I didn’t bother. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to miss one day of the festival.
Once I’d finished my tea, I decided I needed to get moving, festival or no festival. The day’s soup would be delivered to the pub soon, and after that it wouldn’t be long before it was time to open the Inkwell. Before leaving, I spent some time upstairs with Wimsey. I was so relieved that he was safe and sound that I didn’t want to be away from him, but after putting up with my cuddling for a few minutes, he squirmed until I released him. Reluctantly, I said good-bye to him and left him there in Aunt Gilda’s apartment.
When I returned to the mill, only a couple of firefighters remained, cordoning off the area around the shed with tape. A silver car was parked next to my white Honda in the parking lot, and as I crossed the footbridge, the driver’s door opened and Detective Marquez emerged. I stopped briefly to thank the firefighters for their work and then led the detective into the pub.
She didn’t have many questions for me this time, and I didn’t have many answers, so her visit was short. I hoped one of us would figure out who was behind all the recent incidents before much longer. Now that the shock from earlier in the day was wearing off, I was getting mad. Whoever the culprit was, they’d gone too far, putting my home and business at risk.