by Amy Vansant
“Yep. I’m going to have to talk to Mariska again tomorrow. See if she remembers anything else.”
“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
She hung up to find Declan staring at her.
“What was that? You look like you got bad news.”
“I did. They found almond in all the stollens, which means Mariska had to have baked it right in.”
“But you said she was sure she hadn’t added nuts.”
“She is, and she wouldn’t lie about something this serious, but it doesn’t make any sense. How could the entire batch be contaminated without Mariska knowing?”
“So it had to be murder?”
“Or a tragic mistake. Like a mismarked bag of flour.”
“But you think someone switched out the flour?”
Charlotte sighed and stared out into the parking lot where the truck had been. “Which brings us back to Crystal.”
Declan nodded. “Or Mark. Though I can’t say he seems like much of a baker.”
Chapter Thirteen
On the way home from Declan’s, Charlotte stopped at Tilly’s to watch the video Darla mentioned. She had to agree the person handing out the puppies moved like a woman, but thanks to the poodle mask, she didn’t feel any closer to discovering the identity of Yorkie Santa.
It could be Lyndsey though. Her build was similar.
“Do you know who that is?” she asked the puppy nestled contently in her arms.
It didn’t know.
Charlotte had Tilly print a new copy of the best still-shot of the masked puppy thief. Darla had already taken the printout home with her, but Tilly and Charlotte both suspected Darla was napping.
After a quick taste of the limoncello, Charlotte left before she fell for its siren song and ended up on the rocks like Darla. Time to head for the food store. She was down to one chicken breast and a freezer-burned pizza she’d been ignoring because she’d accidentally bought one with peppers on it and wasn’t a fan of green peppers. She made a mental note to pawn it off on Declan the next time he came over.
For the pack of puppies, she’d crushed Abby’s food into smaller bits and they’d eaten it, so she knew she could feed Number Six for a day. It was getting late and there was no rush to take him back to the Miller farm. Anyway, she loved snuggling with the little guys.
Abby might not be thrilled, but she’d get over it.
Caught at a red light, Charlotte’s mind wandered back to the scene at the pawn shop.
I wish I had Crystal’s boyfriend’s last name.
She’d love to have Frank put it through the system and see if he had an arrest record. Maybe Crystal could see what a dead-end the loser was if she knew about his past…
She shook her head.
Who am I kidding?
Of course Crystal knows Mark is a bad guy. That’s probably half the attraction. She just hoped Crystal hadn’t killed her grandmother in anticipation of inheriting money to feed her boyfriend’s drug problem. Or her own. Regardless of what Declan surmised, there was still a good chance she was right there with Mark getting high.
Charlotte sighed and glanced down at the puppy circling on her passenger seat. He flopped down and put his head between his tiny paws, ready for a nap.
She smiled.
Think about puppies.
Even with a possible murder involved in the puppy-napping, it was more fun to think about the puppies, even if she wasn’t officially on the Miller case.
She wasn’t officially on Alice’s case either.
Actually, she was feeling pretty unemployed at the moment. No one had needed a detective since Christmas. At least not for any paying jobs.
Maybe I should be thinking about marketing.
She glanced at Six to keep her mind on happy thoughts and noticed it had chosen to nap partially on the printout of the person in the poodle mask.
I should ask everyone at the Miller mansion if they recognize the mask.
The stolen puppies had to be related to Kimber Miller’s death, didn’t they? It was too much of a coincidence that they would go missing from a room right beside the bedroom where he died at about the same time.
But the Miller investigation was Sheriff Carter’s domain. That created complications. If she handed over the photo to him, he’d want to know where it came from and she didn’t think he would be as understanding as Frank about Tilly’s activities. Even if she gave it to Frank to give to Carter, he’d ask where it came from. Frank could lie and say they had community cameras, but if things went to trial there would be subpoenas for a community-sponsored camera that didn’t exist...no. That didn’t work. Tilly’s cameras weren’t strictly lawful, but they sure came in handy. She didn’t want to lose them or get Tilly in trouble.
The light turned green and Charlotte hit the gas. The puppy on the passenger seat snorted a high-pitched, dreamy whine and growled in its sleep.
Now that is adorable.
She hated to see the last puppy return—
Hold on...I can use the puppy.
She had to return the dog, didn’t she? And if she happened to show around the photo of the poodle mask while she was there, what harm could that do?
Now she felt inspired to keep working. She drove past the food store and headed for the Miller mansion. It would be four o’clock before she could get there, so maybe everyone would be home getting ready for dinner and Sheriff Carter and his crew wouldn’t be there because they’d already come and gone.
The puppy raised its head and stared at her with sleepy eyes as she pulled on to the bumpy driveway.
“Sorry.”
It plunked its head back on the seat.
She pulled into the large stone parking area in front of the house and gathered up the puppy and printout.
“Time to see your brothers and sisters again.”
The puppy seemed nonplussed, hanging limp in her palm as she picked it up.
She rang the bell and, a moment later, Mina appeared at the door. Her eyes grew wide when she saw the puppy in Charlotte’s arms.
“You found it.”
“I did.”
Mina reached out to take the warm bundle of fur. “Same place as the others? Pineapple Place?”
“Pineapple Port. Not quite. Someone had taken it to the vet and that’s where I found it, but that someone was probably from Pineapple Port. We just don’t know who. They left the dog there.”
“Oh. Well, it’s nice to have them all back.” Mina flashed a quick smile and took half a step back, as if preparing to close the door.
Charlotte leaned forward to let her know she wasn’t quite finished yet. “Before I go, do you mind if I show you something?”
“Hm?”
“I have a printout of the person who dropped the puppies off. I was wondering if you might recognize him or her.”
Mina’s smile froze on her face and her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. The effect was almost cartoonish, and a sentence flashed through Charlotte’s brain.
You know who took the puppies.
“Sure,” said Mina, finding her composure.
Charlotte held out the printout for inspection and Mina looked at it.
“That’s a poodle face,” she said, her shoulders seeming to unbunch.
“Yes, they were wearing a mask. But I thought maybe you’d recognize the clothing or the mask itself?”
Mina shook her head. “No.”
“We think it’s a woman, if that helps?”
“Why do you think it’s a woman?”
“This is a still-shot from a video. When you see her move, this person moves like a woman.”
Mina clutched the dog closer to her chest and shrugged. “No. Sorry.”
“Do you mind if I ask the others? Are the girls around or Lyndsey?”
“I don’t think—”
Mina didn’t finish her sentence before one of the girls entered the hallway eating an apple. From the supercilious look on her face, Charlotte guessed it was Payne.<
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“I’m around,” she said, walking toward the image in Charlotte’s outstretched hand without actually acknowledging Charlotte’s presence on the doorstep. “What’s this?”
“This is the person I think took the puppies. Or at least the person I think dropped them off.”
Payne looked at the photo and then at Mina, who seemed genuinely afraid of the girl.
“What is it?” asked Charlotte, worried the moment might be lost.
“It’s Lyndsey,” said Payne.
“Nooo—” began Mina and Payne looked at her as if she’d just said apples are square.
“Yes, it is. That’s her Halloween Hoedown costume from last year. Remember? She went as sexy poodle with that ridiculous pink bodysuit. So thirsty. You remember. I think you even said something to her about how it didn’t leave much to the imagination.”
Mina’s hand fluttered to her chest. “No, I don’t think so—”
“She had pink cotton balls glued to her butt, remember?” Payne rolled her eyes and put her hand next to her mouth to effect a stage whisper in Charlotte’s direction. “Me thinks she was hoping to fetch a man.”
Mina screwed her eyes shut tight and bowed her head as if she were trying to wish everyone away. “She couldn’t have taken the puppies. She isn’t allowed upstairs.”
Charlotte cocked her head. “She isn’t allowed upstairs?”
“No one is,” muttered Payne.
“Those were Mr. Miller’s rules?”
Mina nodded. “He’s very particular about his room and his personal areas.”
“He was a freak,” added Payne, her gaze already on her phone.
“Do you know where Lyndsey is now?”
Payne motioned behind her towards the barn. “I was just at the barn. The barn Jeep is missing. I think she went to her mother’s. Something’s up. I could hear her old lady screaming at her on the other end of the phone earlier.”
“Do you know where her mother lives?” Charlotte was ready to go anywhere to talk to Lyndsey. First the earring, now the mask. Everything pointed to her.
“No. Some old folks’ place.”
Charlotte grimaced. “We’re in Florida. Can you narrow it down a bit?”
Payne huffed and looked up from her phone to tilt back her head so fast and far Charlotte feared she’d flip over backwards.
“Let me think. She stopped there once with me in the car, coming back from a show.”
“A show?”
Charlotte got the look from Payne, and realized now she, not Mina, was the dumbest person on the planet.
“A horse show.”
“Gotcha.”
“The place was across from a Publix.”
“There’s a Publix every twelve feet.”
Payne snickered. “Yeah, true. I remember the neighborhood had something to do with fruit. Like mango, banana place—”
Charlotte perked. “Pineapple Port?”
“Yeah. That sounds right. I remember the pineapple sign now. Her mother was in there in some dinky trailer house. It was depressing.”
Charlotte glowered at her.
“I live in Pineapple Port.”
Payne sucked in a breath and returned her attention to her phone. “Yikes. Sucks to be you.”
“Payne!” said Mina, her cheeks coloring.
Payne gave Mina a sidelong glance but didn’t look up.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
Charlotte turned her attention to Mina. “What’s Lyndsey’s last name?”
“Griffin.”
“Griffin,” echoed Charlotte. There was a Tracy Griffin in the new section. She’d seen the name in the newsletter and noted it because it was a homonym for gryphon and she’d read a lot of fantasy books as a kid. A gryphon was a lion with an eagle’s head and wings. It was a little like meeting someone named Joe Dragen.
“Thank you for your help.” Charlotte said the words to Payne but the girl had already started to wander away, somehow navigating to the doorway between the great hall and the next room without taking her focus from her phone.
Charlotte got the impression she’d worn out her welcome. With a nod and a thank you, she turned to leave.
Mina touched her arm to stop her.
“She’s a nice girl. She would never have killed Kimber.”
Charlotte stopped. “We were talking about her stealing the puppies.”
Mina’s face colored again. “Or that. She wouldn’t do that either.”
“Mina, is there something you’re not telling me?”
The woman opened her mouth and then shut it. She shook her head. “I just mean if she took the puppies I’m sure there’s a good reason.”
Charlotte wanted to stay and coerce Mina into coughing up the secrets she obviously had ready to burst from her lips, but she also wanted to catch Lyndsey before she left her mother’s. If her mother lived in Pineapple Port, there was a fairly good chance the woman with the sixth puppy had been her mother. She was probably freaking out that she’d been spotted at the vet’s and Lyndsey had gone to calm her down.
Once Lyndsey knew her mother might have been identified, Charlotte couldn’t be sure if she’d play it cool or try to run. There was a half-decent chance she’d never return to the farm if she was involved in the murder. Now was the time to find her.
“I’ve got to go,” she said to Mina, patting her hand. Mina released her and she left, breaking into a trot as she headed down the porch stairs.
By the time she reached her car, she had Frank on the phone.
“I think Tracy Griffin had the sixth puppy. She’s Lyndsey’s mother and she lives in Pineapple Port.”
“Who’s Lyndsey again?”
“The horse trainer at Miller’s.”
“How’d you come up with all that? Vet have her on camera?”
“No, I—” Charlotte didn’t want to tell Frank the path had started with Tilly’s cameras until she had to. “It’s a long story. But I think Lyndsey is at her mother’s now. I need you to get there. I’m at the Miller Estate. It’ll take me twenty, twenty-five minutes to get back and if her mother tells her she had to ditch the puppy at the vets, she might try to take off.”
“What are you doing at the Millers’ place? Did they hire you?”
“No. Not exactly—”
“Charlotte, dang it, that’s not your case. Hell, it’s not even my case. It’s out of my county.”
“I had to return the puppy. And Lyndsey’s in your county now. She’s in your neighborhood. You have to go question her. Stall until I can get there.”
“Why? What are you going to do?”
“I have evidence she won’t be able to deny.”
“What exactly am I supposed to confront her with until then?”
“Tell her we have her mother on camera at the vet’s.”
“But we don’t.”
“Then just imply it. Be creative.”
“Be creative.” Frank huffed. “Fine. But you and your evidence better hurry. I can’t keep her there with nothing for long.”
“I’m already on the way.”
Chapter Fourteen
Frank hung up with Charlotte and scowled at the front of his house. He’d just pulled up and had been looking forward to having a bourbon and making fun of Darla and the screaming hangover she no doubt had by now.
He put his car into reverse and headed for Tracy Griffin’s house, just a few blocks away. He’d stopped to introduce himself to the new resident a month or so earlier, as was his habit. Best way to keep the neighborhood nice was to ensure every new person knew there was a sheriff living a few doors down. Funny business in the county was one thing, funny business in his neighborhood was a whole other.
At the time, he’d found Ms. Griffin unremarkable. A lack of makeup or primping of any kind had inspired him to file her under plain-Jane in his memory; a small woman, hair a mixture of dark and light gray, shoulder-length with a curl to it. In her day she might have been a cutie. One of those pixie types.
It wasn’t always easy to tell. Now in her early sixties, he remembered she’d seemed a bit beaten down by life. Maybe a little rough around the edges.
As Frank pulled in front of Tracy Griffin’s house a woman burst from the front door headed for a car backed in the driveway.
Lyndsey.
Frank put his cruiser in reverse and rolled to block her car in the driveway.
That’s one way to keep her here.
Lyndsey looked up at him, registered shock and lowered the phone she’d had pressed to her ear.
Frank stepped out of the car and walked around the back of it. Lyndsey waited until he was in full view and then unleashed a toothy smile.
“Hi, Officer, I was just about to pull out, so if you could—”
“Lyndsey Griffin?”
Lyndsey appeared shocked, though Frank suspected she was less shocked than she let on.
“Yes?”
“I need to talk to you and your mother if you could come inside?”
“My mother? Why would you need to talk to my mother?”
“Could we do this inside?”
Frank heard a growl and turned to see Mama Griffin standing at her open door, her fists shut tight at her sides.
Lyndsey looked at her mother with what appeared to be fury, but no sooner did he note her angry expression, than Lyndsey’s face relaxed. She smiled again at Frank and led him up the stairs to the door as her mother disappeared inside.
Frank crossed the threshold and took a moment to scan the interior. Layout-wise, the home looked like any other in Pineapple Port, though it definitely fell on the shabbier side of shabby-chic. The worn slipcover engulfing the padded chair parked in front of the television told Frank that Tracy lived alone and didn’t have much money. The chair was pulled too close to the set, so her eyesight was probably on the fritz, too.
There were two types of people who retired to Pineapple Port: people with just enough money to afford the cheap houses and modest land rent, and people with money to live well but only if they didn’t blow all their savings on a big, expensive house. Those people sometimes had cars in their driveways that cost more than their homes. The old Ford Taurus in the driveway in front of Lyndsey’s Jeep told Frank Tracy belonged to the first group.
“What’s this about?” asked Lyndsey.