"Soon." She pulled out her phone. I suspected she was hoping for a text or call rather than checking the time. Her subsequent disappointment indicated there was no text or call. I could only assume she was hoping to hear from Gordon but then I could have been totally off base. After all, my mind wasn't exactly clear and concise, which reminded me that I needed aspirin. Still, I found Constance's utterly changed demeanor interesting. Was it possible she was still upset that Gordon only bought her half a dozen roses?
"I guess Mr. Scarecrow is busy getting his straw nipped and tucked and whatever else they do to transform a human into a straw man." I tapped my chin. "Is the correct reference Mr. Scarecrow or just Scarecrow?"
After perusing the shelves as if she was purchasing her first home, Constance blindly reached for a box of ointment. "If you'll excuse me, I don't want to be late for rehearsal."
I bowed my head. "Of course. Sorry to keep you."
She swooshed past me fast enough to cause a curl on my forehead to flutter. But rushed as she was, she took the time to stop at the end of the aisle and check her phone. I scooted along the shelves past the antacid and foot powder to the aspirin. I grabbed a box and headed toward checkout.
Constance was on the phone. She turned her head away and spoke harshly but quietly into the phone. "Call me back. We need to talk before rehearsal. It's very important." She hung up. Even though I offered her a polite smile, she rushed past me as if we were complete strangers. Which, technically, we were. It seemed there was going to be at least one extra grumpy Munchkin on the stage tonight. Maybe the rash had finally gotten so irritating it put her in a sour mood. Seemed like a perfectly legitimate reason to be grumpy.
Constance paid for the ointment and rushed from the store. I stopped by the small freezer near the checkout counter and pulled out an orange popsicle. We were still a few months shy of popsicle weather, but it sounded refreshing and soothing for my throat. I paid for both items and opened the popsicle wrapper on the way out the door.
My phone rang and I pulled it from my coat pocket with my free hand. I laughed briefly at the notion of enjoying an ice pop while swaddled in a thick winter coat.
"Hello," I said before pushing the pop into my mouth.
"Did Franki's chicken soup do the trick?" Briggs asked.
I licked my lips. "No, I've resorted to more scientific means. I bought some aspirin and a popsicle."
His deep chuckle rumbled through the phone. "Ah ha, so you've been researching the famous scientific study on popsicles and their effects on the common cold."
I pulled the pop from my lips, sound effect and all. "No kidding? Is there really such a study?"
"Wow, kiddo, maybe we should cancel tonight."
My cheeks warmed. "Well, you said it so seriously, and with my head being particularly light, it all sounded quite plausible. It sure would make every kid in the world happy to know that sucking on popsicles could cure their colds. And we're not canceling. I'll be fine. I was just talking to a grumpy Munchkin, which makes me even more eager to see the play."
"Did you say a grumpy Munchkin? I thought Munchkin's were happy members of the Lollipop Guild and all that."
"This particular Munchkin moonlights as a flying monkey, so I guess you could say she has multiple personalities. This morning she came to my shop cheery and begging her boyfriend, the Scarecrow, for roses. She got the roses, but her mood is much darker this afternoon. By the way, is it Mr. Scarecrow or the Scarecrow or just Scarecrow?"
There was a long pause. "Finish the popsicle and take the aspirin. And I can always get tickets for another night if you're not feeling up to it this evening."
"I'll be fine. I can feel the popsicle regimen working already. Maybe there should be a scientific study."
"Goodbye, Lacey."
"Goodbye."
Chapter 5
It was official. As comforting as a bowl of Franki's chicken soup was, its healing properties didn't hold a candle (or a noodle) to aspirin. Fifteen minutes after taking two aspirin, my chills and body aches vanished and my head cleared, at least as much as was possible. I could only blame the cold for so much of my occasional silliness. I could still vaguely remember pestering Constance in the drug store when she clearly didn't want to be bothered. That was a combination of my feeling out of sorts and my insatiable curiosity. Her change in temperament from morning until afternoon was just so odd, I couldn't help myself. She certainly raced away from me the second she had the chance. I probably deserved it.
"How can I help you?" I asked as my face popped up from behind a vase of mixed spring flowers. "Oh, it's you, Elsie."
"Not exactly a rousing greeting. Especially when I come bearing edible gifts." Elsie marched with her usual energy to the counter. She was holding a plate.
"I'm smelling banana"—I sniffed the air—"cinnamon and walnuts."
She placed the plate of warm muffins on the counter. "You can actually smell walnuts?"
"Not really. But I saw muffins and I smelled banana so I assumed walnut." I reached under the sheet of plastic wrap. "I have to eat one now since they are warm and beckoning me to enjoy them."
Elsie rested her forearm along the edge of the counter. "I heard you were sick." It was rare to see the woman without at least one smudge of flour on her face. Today she had a jagged streak on her forehead that reminded me of Harry Potter. Each day, more and more silver gray replaced the natural caramel color of her hair, but she never looked older. Her stringent routine of running, working hard and never overindulging in her own sweets kept her as fit as an Olympic athlete.
I savored a warm bite of muffin and got a nice surprise. "Ooh, mini chocolate chips too?"
"Surprised you didn't smell the chocolate." Elsie hopped up on a stool.
"I think it's my cold. My olfactory cells are in a fog. How did you know I was sick? And it's just a head cold. You know nothing keeps this old gal down."
"Just keep on your side of the counter, old gal." Elsie waved her fingers to motion me back. "You can still sell flowers with a cold. I cannot bake cookies and cakes. And since I have yet to find a suitable replacement for my niece, Britney, I have no choice except to bake. Otherwise, I'd have to shut down."
"First of all, you are once again holding way too high of a standard for your assistant. What about that last guy, Ted?" I asked.
"Tad. Who names their kid Tad?"
"I'm sure it was short for something. Anyhow, I thought he was pretty good. Fast, efficient and he made a very good pan of brownies. Not as good as yours," I added quickly. "But they were tasty."
"Yes, well he was slow at frosting cakes."
I stared at her. "That was it? He couldn't frost cakes fast enough?"
Elsie shrugged. "Among other things." Somehow without looking, she sensed she had flour on her forehead. She used the back of her hand to wipe it off, then tapped the counter. "I came in here to tell you something funny. So I'm placing cookies on a silver tray and the door opens and the Scarecrow and Dorothy walk inside and order two lemon tarts. The actors were in full costume. The Scarecrow even left a few pieces of straw on my floor. Dorothy was pretty but a little taller than I would have expected and her eyes were sort of small. Not like Judy Garland's eyes at all. Now those were a pair of eyes." She laughed. "I thought it was funny because when I watched the movie as an adult, I always wondered if, you know, any hanky panky ever happened between Dorothy and one of her traveling companions. Of course, I always thought it would be the Tin Man. He was taller and a little more masculine than the other two."
I stared unblinkingly at her as she finished her long moment of bizarre contemplation. I wasn't exactly sure how to respond.
She looked at me. "Isn't it funny? I mean they were definitely flirting. Well, as much as the guy covered in straw and makeup could flirt. He offered her his tattered old coat on the way out because she was wearing that little puffed sleeve gingham dress."
"I'm still trying to process the notion of you imagining a romantic link b
etween Dorothy and her three companions. I don't think I've ever once considered that there could be—Wait, did you say the Scarecrow and Dorothy? But the Scarecrow has been dating one of the Munchkins for two years. He bought her six red roses this morning."
Elsie squinted in thought. "Wasn't it Tin Man who was in love with a Munchkin and that was why he was looking for his heart?"
I laughed. "If someone walked in here right now and heard two perfectly normal grown women debating the romantic threads in The Wizard of Oz, they would walk right back out and never return. But back to what you saw. You're sure it was the Scarecrow and Dorothy?"
She arched a brow. "Really?"
I nodded. "Of course. How could you confuse either of those characters? Was the Scarecrow tall with blue eyes?"
"I didn't take too close of a look at his eyes, but he was tall with nice shoulders. And Dorothy had shiny auburn hair. Like I said, she was pretty and apparently quite smitten with her straw man."
"Well, this explains why Constance was in such a frazzled state," I said to myself.
"Who is Constance?" Elsie asked.
"A Munchkin and she also plays the part of a flying monkey. The makeup gave her a rash, but I think there was more to her irritation than itchy red patches."
Elsie hopped off the stool. "Well, this whole conversation is starting to sound like gibberish, and I have two apple pies in the oven. Enjoy the muffins and feel better."
"Thanks." I sat down on a stool to finish my snack. Kingston flew over to join me. I broke off a crumb, and he plucked it from my fingertips. "Well, well, King. Looks like this play is going to be more entertaining than I expected."
Ryder walked into the shop. "Lola got in a bunch of those post-mortem Victorian pictures. Those things are so creepy, but she thinks they're cool."
I put my hands on my hips. "So an actor in monkey makeup freaks her out, but pictures of dead people dressed and posed as if they were alive and enjoying everyday life are cool. She is a weird person. Escape now while you have your chance."
Naturally, I was joking, but Ryder's face dropped and his earlier smile faded.
"That's it. I knew something was up with you. You haven't been your usual self." I walked closer to him but kept a good, safe distance to avoid passing on my cold.
His shoulders lifted with a deep breath. "I've been asked to join a team of researchers in Brazil. They are studying medicinal plants in the Amazon. It's a three month expedition, and it would be great experience."
I threw my arms up and was about to hug him but stopped short. "Man, I really hate this cold." I threw my arms out and hugged an invisible person. "There, one of my special long distance hugs. But I don't understand—why are you so sad? This seems perfect for you."
He raked his long bangs back off his face. "It is. But I'd be leaving you without an assistant right in the middle of bridal season and then there's—" His gaze drifted to the windows.
"Then there's Lola," I finished for him. "So you haven't mentioned this to her yet?"
"No, because I'm a coward. Maybe I need to head to Oz for some courage."
"First of all, don't worry about the flower shop. I'll manage. I'm sure I can find an assistant. And if they work out, they can stay. Business has been good, and I think we both could use a hand during busy seasons." I walked back to the mixed spring bouquets I'd been working on when Elsie walked in. "Ryder, I'm sure Lola will be happy for you. She'll be sad and upset. I don't think I'd be terribly happy if James told me he was leaving the country for three months, but if it was for a good reason, I'd understand. Lola will too."
He raked his fingers through his hair again, assuring me that telling Lola was making him anxious. "They've given me a week to decide, so I have some time to think about it. Let's switch subjects. This one gives me a stomachache. You haven't mentioned the Hawksworth murders for awhile. Are you still working on the case?"
I nearly pushed over the vase I was filling. "Oh my gosh, yes. Thanks to James, I had a big breakthrough today. Remember I told you that I thought Jane Price, Mayor Price's great aunt, had some kind of connection to all of it?"
"Yeah, you said Marty found an old picture of Jane Price. She was sent out of town or something." Ryder started placing newly potted herbs in our delivery wagon.
"Right. I'm pretty sure I know why. She was pregnant and unmarried. A scandal like that would have hurt the Price family name, so it makes sense that Harvard Price, her father, sent her away. Sadly, it turns out she died in childbirth. The baby girl was sickly. She was sent back to Port Danby to live with her father."
Ryder looked up from his task. "But you said she was unmarried." He blushed. "Of course, there still has to be a father. Learned that in biology," he chuckled.
"Right. I think Bertram Hawksworth was the baby's father." I leaned back to admire the arrangement.
"Wow, double scandal right here in little ole Port Danby. Do you know for certain?"
"No, darn it," I said. "I need to find out what happened to the baby. She wasn't expected to live long, poor thing."
Ryder put the last pot in the wagon, then snapped his fingers. "Hey, did you know there's an entire file of Port Danby obituaries stored in the mayor's office? They date back to the mid 1800s. I know because I had to do a local history report on Dick Duggin. He was the town's first doctor. His obituary was in the file. The guy was a doctor, but he didn't take too good care of himself. He died from a heart attack. You should check it out. You might find an obituary for the baby."
"That is a brilliant idea. I've been meaning to take a stroll through the town square to check out the activities. I can drop the herbs off on my way and pick up the wagon from Tom on the trip back."
"Guess you're feeling better then?" he said.
"Yes, I am. I think a walk will do me good."
Chapter 6
I'd been so sheltered in my head cold and feeling out of it, I hadn't had a chance to walk to the town square to witness the extravagant chaos that went along with setting up for a large theater production. I could feel the energy in the misty sea air as I walked out of Corner Market and turned onto Pickford Way. Marty's lovely lady, the Pickford Lighthouse, glistened in the late afternoon sun. The earlier chill still clung to the air, but cold temperatures were always much more tolerable when the sun was shining. Two aspirin had made it more tolerable as well. The shivers and aches that had kept me under the weather all morning were gone. (I hoped for good but I wasn't counting on it.)
The massive tent erected for the play was nearly blinding in whiteness. It billowed and collapsed lightly as the usual afternoon breeze wafted up from the beach below. The winter weary branches of the ironwood trees surrounding the town square were bursting with tender green leaves, whispering promises of a lush, cooling summer shade. True signs of spring had come late this year, and aside from the towering evergreens on the edges of town, the local trees were working hard to catch up to get ready for their showy summer debuts.
The theater group had arrived in a train of large trucks and small trailers. It was quite the production. I could only imagine the logistics of carrying everything from venue to venue. But it was also easy to see why a group would take on the Herculean task of traveling to location. This way they could reach a much wider audience and gain recognition across the country. The Auburn Theater Group had received high praise from critics everywhere, and Mayor Price was particularly proud to book them for our town.
Two flying monkeys (sans wings) scurried past me holding cups of Les's coffee and chatting about an after party. Their makeup and costumes were quite impressive. I could almost see why Lola was a little freaked out.
A crew of three stagehands wheeled a beautifully painted house facade into the tent. It looked just like Aunt Em's quaint farmhouse. Fake trees were rolled in behind it. A loud sound check echoed inside the tent where someone was reciting the obligatory 'testing one two three' chant. It was going to be a great play, and I was looking forward to a night out with Briggs.
<
br /> Pedestrians were blocked from walking through the activity, so I took the sidewalk that ran behind the town square. With each step closer to the mayor's office, my apprehension grew. Mayor Price had taken an instant disliking to me and my unusual pet from the start, and the two of us never formed a friendship. In fact, I'd only added salt to the wound by making the mistake of asking him about his Great Aunt Jane. He grew red faced and flustered and made it clear he didn't want me nosing around in his family history. With any luck, his receptionist, Ms. Simpson, would be able to point me to the obituary files, and I wouldn't have to deal with Mayor Price at all.
My wish for luck worked. Mayor Price, with his oversized belly and overstretched polyester suit, was standing in the middle of the activity talking to several of the theater hands. He was certainly engaged in this event. I was going to take it as my cue to snoop around in the city records. I picked up my pace.
As I rounded the corner where the dressing trailers had been parked, loud, angry voices shot toward me. Two women seemed to be having an argument. I peered casually between the trailers, trying not to look nosy and, at the same time, being nosy. (One helped negate the other, in my opinion.)
A tall woman with auburn hair tied in two pigtails and wearing the iconic blue and white checked Dorothy of Oz dress was looming over a short, squat woman with a blue cap that had the word Director emblazoned across the front. Gordon and Constance had mentioned her name was Susana. I didn't know much about show business, but I always pictured the director as being the boss, the commander in chief, as it were. But while Susana's voice was what one would expect for the position, loud and booming, she seemed to be shrinking from Dorothy's scolding. I would have crossed the line on nosiness (if there was one) if I'd gone close enough to hear the exact details of their fight, but there was no doubt that they were in the middle of a rambunctious disagreement. Every time Susana attempted to show her authority by stretching taller and talking louder, her opponent, Dorothy, would get angrier and lean closer, causing Susana to shrink back. It was all somewhat amusing and ironic considering the angry woman was wearing a sweet checked pinafore and ribbon tied pigtails. Still, costume or not, she was intimidating, and the director was getting a tongue lashing she wouldn't soon forget. The few spare words I was able to catch clearly were about a dressing table mirror and having to put up with a clumsy makeup artist. It seemed Dorothy really considered herself quite the irreplaceable star.
Freesias and Foul Play Page 3