Freesias and Foul Play

by London Lovett

  Elsie spun around. "Got to take grumpy man his bowl next."

  "You should tell him to come eat with me," I suggested. "Maybe I can lead by example."

  Elsie returned with her brother's lunch bowl and placed it next to mine. "Good idea. Text him and invite him to lunch in the flower shop. He'll be happy to come if the invite is from you. And I've got a batch of brownies in the oven."

  "I thought I smelled cocoa and butter seeping through the walls. I suppose it would negate all the beneficial qualities of this lunch if I finished it with a fudgy brownie."

  "Does sort of defeat the purpose, but I'll bring you one later after grumpy man has left. He's got high cholesterol. You've got a cold. You can still eat a brownie." With that she strode out Elsie style and headed back to the bakery.

  I grabbed my phone and sent Les a text. He didn't bother to answer but showed up with a smile and a bright green sweater just two minutes later.

  "So she's making you suffer too," he said as he spotted the identical bowls.

  Kingston dropped down from his perch and hopped across the floor to greet Les. Les stopped and leaned down to pet his head. "Kingston, how do you feel about broccoli?"

  "He would never say no to broccoli, but something tells me your sister would know if you fed it to my bird." I patted the stool next to me. "Sit and we'll get healthy together."

  His blue-gray eyes twinkled. "Those vegetables are certainly going to go down a lot smoother with you as my lunch date." He climbed up on the stool. "So, what's new in Lacey's world? Aside from another murder investigation. I heard about Dorothy's death."

  "Yes, it wasn't exactly the night at the theater I was envisioning when I talked James into buying tickets."

  Les pulled a packet of salt out of his pocket and pressed his finger to his lips. "Don't tell her. I just need a little salt to make this stuff more palatable." He sprinkled some on and offered me a sprinkle. Which I accepted. The cold had made my taste buds dull, and there was nothing like salt to pep them up.

  "Have they found the killer?" he asked.

  "I'm afraid I've been too busy to get any updates from James, but I don't think this will be solved quickly unless someone steps forward and confesses. But I have moved forward on the Hawksworth mystery. Or, at least, I think I have. It's all still theories, but if my hunches are correct, I think Harvard Price was somehow connected to the whole thing. And our current Mayor Price is not too pleased about me snooping around in his family history, which only makes my theory stronger."

  Les picked through the green veggies to the sweet potato chunks. "It's long been known that Price's great grandfather was a shifty character."

  I nearly choked on my quinoa. (Not easy to do.) "Is that right? How do you know that? Why is this the first time I'm hearing it?"

  Les shrugged. "I had no idea you were connecting Harvard Price to the Hawksworth murders. Otherwise, I would have told you all about his shady dealings. There were even rumors about him cheating his way into the mayor's office."

  I just about slipped off my stool. "Really? How do you know all this about Harvard?"

  "George, one of the guys I go bowling with on Saturday nights, had a great uncle who lived to be ninety-nine. The uncle worked as a fisherman on some salty old captain's boat. That captain had a particular disliking for Fielding Price, Harvard's son and Harlan's grandfather. Apparently, Fielding lost big in a poker game to the captain but he refused to pay up. Even threatened to use his mayoral power to revoke the guy's fishing license. Anyhow, that captain told George's uncle all kinds of tales about cheating and scandals and how the Prices always bought their way into the mayor's office." He picked through to the next sweet potato.

  "Maybe if you couple that sweet potato with the piece of broccoli it won't taste so green," I suggested.

  He rocked his head side to side considering my proposal, then dove in for the next sweet potato.

  "Should I take George's uncle's Price gossip"—I pointed to the empty salt packet—"You know—with a grain of salt? After all, it seems that sea captain had good reason to start some tall tales about the Price family."

  Les was out of sweet potato, so he put his fork down. "George wasn't the first person who mentioned that Harvard Price was a shifty politician. I've heard other people say it. I'm just too old to remember who. I think some of the guys in the firehouse used to talk about our mayor, then gossip about his predecessors always popped up. From what I remember, Harlan's dad, Denton Price, was likable. I don't think he was up to anything shady. He won because he was polite and willing to listen to people."

  I stabbed a piece of broccoli. "Too bad his son didn't inherit any of those qualities."

  Les looked up from his disappointing lunch. "Is that old grump giving you trouble again?"

  "Let's just say he wasn't too pleased to find me in his office poring over old obituaries."

  He chuckled until he realized I was serious. "Why were you looking at obituaries in his office?"

  I sat forward, eager to tell him all I knew. "I was searching for information about a baby girl who died just shortly after birth in 1906. Her mother, Jane Price, Harvard's daughter from his first marriage, died in childbirth, and her sickly baby was sent to live with the father. I think Bertram Hawksworth was the father." I squeezed his arm. "But don't say a word to George or your bowling buddies or anyone, for that matter. I've been warned by a certain detective not to get ahead of myself on this. I need solid proof before I can determine whether or not my theory holds water."

  "No kidding? Well, that might just have been enough to send Harvard into a rage. Maybe enough to kill Hawksworth." He pushed the mostly full bowl away like a kid at the dinner table signaling he was done and there was nothing his mom could say to make him clean his plate. The poor guy really wasn't a fan of vegetables. "But seems sort of drastic to kill the whole Hawksworth family, don't you think?"

  "I do but I'll figure it out. Just wait and see."

  He laughed. "Then the mayor won't just try and run your bird out of town. He'll try to send you packing with him."

  "You're probably right, but a murder investigator has to put her own needs aside to find the killer."

  Les looked down at his unfinished bowl. "How does a murder investigator feel about keeping this lunch secret? I can't sit through another sisterly lecture about wasting food."

  "I feel slightly traitorous keeping secrets from Elsie, but as far as I'm concerned you ate vegetables. After all, sweet potato counts as a veggie."

  "Thank goodness for sweet potatoes."

  Chapter 19

  Ryder had come back from his special lunch with Lola considerably cheerier than the morning. And I was feeling back to my old self again. Thank goodness it was a short cold and not some long, drawn out flu. We'd hit the usual afternoon lull in the shop, so I used it as my chance to do some investigating.

  The usual flutter of activity at the town square had slowed considerably. Group members were meandering around the square in pairs and threes, likely a safety precaution. Despite the sunny skies, there was a general cloud of gloom over the whole scene. What was noticeably absent was the sense of invigorated purpose I'd noticed the day before. Yesterday, people had tasks, whether it was painting a prop tree or sitting under a real tree studying lines with a partner, everyone had something to do with one common goal in mind—putting on a stellar opening night performance. This afternoon, the frenetic creativity and anticipation had been replaced by sorrow, angst and, I could only assume, mistrust. It was entirely likely that someone they had been traveling, living and working with for months or even years was a cold-blooded killer. That would definitely dampen team spirit and cooperation.

  The day before, I could never have walked freely through the area, but today, everyone was in their own heads, too steeped in their own thoughts and worries to care about a lone woman strolling along the path. No one paid me much attention as I pretended to look at the scenery while eavesdropping on conversations. One particularly lou
d one was happening next to the tent. Three crew members were touching up paint on a large wooden cutout of Emerald City. It was an impressive piece sitting on a dozen or so wheels for easy movement. Their backs were toward me as they focused on their task of touching up the green paint.

  "If you ask me, she just pushed too hard for all her special treatment," a woman said to the man next to her. "I don't know why she thought she deserved spa days and fancy flavored coffees. We all worked just as hard as her. Someone must have finally gotten sick and tired of her constant complaining and whining."

  The guy lowered his brush and looked at the woman. "Do you think it was Susie?" he asked point blank. His gaze flitted to the nosy woman lingering behind them. He elbowed the woman and whispered something in her ear. She took a not too subtle look over her shoulder. I moved along without the answer on whether or not the woman with the green paintbrush thought Susana Damon was the culprit.

  Five or six people, Johnny included, were eating lunch on one of the picnic tables in the square. The group chatted and there was even an occasional laugh. From my vantage point, it seemed that Johnny was quite the entertainer. He spoke animatedly about something and his audience chuckled. It was an oddly cheery scene considering what had transpired the night before. It seemed not everyone was broken up about Amanda's death. From the conversation I overheard just a moment earlier, it almost seemed as if some people thought Amanda brought her demise on herself with so many demands and expectations to be treated better than everyone else.

  I spotted Constance walking across the grass to Susana's trailer. She walked up the steps, knocked and entered seconds later. I hurried across the path and grass to the backside of Susana's trailer. It was a sunny day. With any luck, a window would be open so I could hear their conversation. Susana had a noticeably loud, clear voice, an attribute suited for her job. I could hear her before I even reached the trailer. I scooted around to the backside and stood quietly beneath the tiny open window that, according to my calculations, was right over the kitchen sink.

  "We can't afford to refund the tickets, Susie. We should just move opening night to Sunday." Constance's tone was much more muted than Susana's, but I could hear it perfectly through the open window. I kept an eye out for people passing by. I didn't want to be caught eavesdropping. Most people saw me with Detective Briggs. He even introduced me several times as his assistant. I didn't want people to be suspicious about how the case was being run.

  "It doesn't seem right," Susie said. "Our lead actress is dead. Murdered right on our stage."

  "Yes, I know and I understand your apprehension, but how can we afford to stay open if we have to return all the tickets? Cast members and stage crew will expect to be paid. I know all of Dorothy's lines. Let me play Dorothy. As they say in our business, the show must go on."

  I turned my ear up to listen for Susana's answer, but voices were nearing the trailer. I reluctantly left the spot below the window and wandered casually back into the town square.

  I spotted two young women walking away from the trailers and heading toward the wharf. They looked friendly and, with any luck, chatty. Maybe it was time to come out of the eavesdropping shadows and talk to a few of the group members face to face.

  Chapter 20

  I strolled casually behind my two targets. They were both young, early twenties. One was under five feet and petite. She was wearing an old, nicely timeworn bomber jacket that was a few sizes too big and landed nearly at her knees. I quickly determined the unusual piece of attire would be the perfect conversation starter. Her friend was just a smidge taller with bleached white hair and long bangs. Neither of them looked too distraught about what had happened. They chatted amiably as they headed toward the hot dog stand. There was a long line, so I got in behind them. I wasn't in need of any lunch, but the stand also sold delicious lemonade.

  "Do you think Constance will convince Susie to open the show?" one woman asked the other as they stood in front of me.

  "I hope so. We're all anxious to see the play," I said, interjecting myself into their conversation with a polite smile.

  They looked back at me apprehensively as if it had been something they didn't want overheard. I decided to change tactics and hop back to my original plan. I pointed to the bomber jacket.

  "This is the greatest jacket. It looks like the real thing. Not one of those fakes they sell at the mall."

  The woman's lips turned up in a proud smile as she smoothed her hand over the supple, worn leather. "It is original. It belonged to my grandfather. It took me some pretty heavy duty begging, but he finally let me have it."

  "It's amazing," I said.

  Her friend squinted at me. "Aren't you the woman who was with the detective last night?"

  "Yes," I said. It wasn't the turn in conversation I was hoping for, but I decided it could work to my advantage. I stuck out my hand. "I'm Lacey. How do you do?"

  "I'm Joan," the woman in the bomber jacket said. "And this is Carly. We're with the cast."

  "I thought you two looked like actors. Something in the animated way you two were speaking to each other." The line moved closer to the order window. "By the way, I highly recommend the chili dog. The chili is tasty."

  "That's what I was planning on ordering," Joan said.

  Carly looked at her. "I thought you were getting the sauerkraut dog."

  Joan shrugged but it was hardly noticeable in the oversized jacket. "I think the sauerkraut might mess with my stomach."

  "Well, a chili dog isn't exactly like sipping warm milk," Carly noted. I hadn't planned to start a hot dog debate with my suggestion. I was only four hot dog customers away from losing them to the order window. I needed to keep the conversation moving now that we'd become acquainted.

  "What parts do you two play?" I asked. I had a sneaking suspicion due to their diminutive size.

  "We're members of the Lollipop Guild," Joan said happily. "You probably could have guessed that."

  I smiled. "I didn't want to assume. Excuse me, but I overheard you two talking about the possibility of reopening the play again."

  They exchanged cautious looks trying to decide if they should say anything, then Joan shrugged again. "We can't really afford to travel all this way and set up camp and tents and props and not put on a play. Refunding tickets could drain funds. We really need to do the shows."

  "I see. That makes sense. It was terribly tragic. I'm sure it will be hard for all of you to put on a performance when one of your close friends is dead. And, on top of it, she was the star of the play."

  "Yeah, we're all broken up about it, of course. It was a big shock," Joan said.

  "And scary too," Carly said with a visible shudder. "Someone we know might be a killer."

  "Yes, I'm sure that has you all worried," I said. "Who do you think might have disliked the actress enough to kill her?"

  They both took furtive glances around, apparently checking to see who was nearby, before scooting closer. "I don't like talking bad about the dead, but Amanda was sort of a diva," Joan said in a hushed tone. "She was sure that the play couldn't go on without her. She considered herself irreplaceable, and she let everyone know it. Most of us just avoided her because she wasn't fun to be around," Joan said.

  "Unless you were one of the many men in the cast," Carly added cattily.

  "Oh? So Amanda was seeing some of the cast members?" We moved up another customer closer to the order window.

  "Who knows?" Joan scoffed. "It was hard to keep up with all her different relationships. Let's just say she bounced around between boyfriends and that didn't win her any friends either. Amanda liked to be the center of attention, whether on stage or off."

  The person at the window only ordered a lemonade, so we moved up again and it was Joan and Carly's turn to order.

  I made a show of glancing at my phone. "Oh wow, I didn't realize how late it was. Guess I'll have to skip the hot dog. Enjoy your lunch. It was nice talking to you."

  "Bye, nice talking to y
ou," Joan said as I broke away from the line.

  It wasn't just a ruse. I really did need to head back to the shop. I'd been away too long. I took a short cut through the town square and was gifted with one more bit of knowledge, aside from the nuggets I'd gleamed from Joan and Carly.

  Constance had apparently finished her conversation with Susana. She was sitting on a bench near the fountain. Gordon was sitting next to her with his arm around her shoulder. I caught a flirtatious smile before Constance rested her head against him. It seemed they were back on solid footing as a couple. Or maybe they had never been off of it. Elsie had made the observation that Dorothy and Scarecrow, Amanda and Gordon, had been amorous during their visit to the bakery, but maybe Elsie had misread the scene. Although, that was highly unlikely. Elsie was very observant. I couldn't really remember the last time she was wrong about something. And Constance was definitely acting distracted and upset when I ran into her at the pharmacy. It would have been easy to think she'd discovered Amanda and Gordon together with the way she was acting.

  Whether or not Amanda and Gordon had been flirting or whether or not they'd been caught, it seemed Constance and Gordon were a happy couple again now that Dorothy was out of the picture for good.

  Chapter 21

  The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow through the front window of the shop, and a golden light flowed down the short hallway and into my office. I gazed absently at my order pad as my fingers fluttered away filling in the numbers on my last purchase order. Of all the tasks in the flower shop, paperwork was by far my least favorite. At least I didn't have to write grueling, detailed reports like Briggs. And then, as if my thought had conjured him, the bell rang. Seconds later, Briggs poked his head into the office. The afternoon glow seeping down the hallway illuminated his handsome face. His brown eyes were like dark cocoa, and his hair was back to its naturally disheveled state.