by Mel McCoy
“Adam said he’s looking for Orloff Minsky.”
“Who?”
“You know Orloff. Grandpa says he lives in the apartment above the Bait and Tackle shop next door.”
“Russian guy?”
“I think so.”
“If he’s the same guy I’m thinking of, he used to come into the shop by accident thinking it was the entrance to the stairway that led up to his apartment. So, what about Orloff did you find out? Did he kill John Jacobs?”
“Adam just needs to find him so he can be questioned.”
“Until then, we have a killer on the loose…”
“Not exactly,” Sarah said. “He’s a suspect, not necessarily the murderer. Besides, they don’t even know for sure that there’s been any foul play. It’s just that Orloff was fired the day of the incident.”
Emma rose up from her stool. “No way! Don’t you see—”
“Yeah, it’s a big coincidence. I know.”
“Gigantic coincidence. I mean, c’mon, Sarah. That’s one big, stinking motive.”
“Among others,” Sarah corrected. “Don’t forget Jacobs raising the rent. That’s a big enough motive for a lot of people in this town. And do you remember Patricia Greensmith’s threat and the bump on the head? That was an awfully big coincidence, and that fell through.”
“Touché. But Orloff is fairly new in town. First job he was fired at, so we don’t know what his temperament is.”
“And we don’t have a baseline for it, either,” Sarah added.
Emma’s phone chimed, and she stepped out from behind the counter.
“Where are you going?” Sarah asked.
“Grandpa is out beyond the Cove and ran out of gas again.”
“Again?”
“Yeah, it’s a once-a-month thing. Another fun quirk to add to his list.”
“Why doesn’t he, you know, remember to fill up his gas tank?”
“It’s his fuel gauge. It’s broken. Always shows empty, but somehow he figures, since it’s broken, it’s always wrong. Except when it’s not…”
“Like now.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Why doesn’t he get his fuel gauge fixed?” Sarah asked.
“The question should be, ‘Why is he still driving a Pinto from the early ’70s?’”
“It’s Grandpa we’re talking about here,” Sarah said, grinning. “You really had to ask?”
“Bah,” Emma said, rushing off to save the day for their grandpa. Before leaving, she called over her shoulder, “Keep your eyes peeled, Sarah! The Cascade Cove Killer is on the loose!”
It was Sarah’s turn to roll her eyes.
She heard the corgi whine by her side.
“It’s okay, Winston,” she said, leaning down to pet the dog. “I’ll protect you.”
Rugby huffed, and Sarah used her free hand to rub his back.
“You guys want a Fudderdog Treat?”
Both dogs’ ears perked up, and she grabbed two treats, handing one to each. They strode off in separate directions. The boutique was quiet, with the exception of their crunching and Misty’s purring somewhere in the back office.
The bell on the door leading to the boardwalk rang, and she saw a woman in a beautiful summer dress walking in. She wore a brimmed hat, and Sarah immediately recognized her.
“Hi, Marigold.”
“Good morning, Sarah. How are you today?”
“Living the dream. How about you?”
Marigold looked around the store, then she looked back at Sarah. “Good. Just enjoying the warm weather. Decided to take a nice stroll on the boardwalk, and I finally had the chance to go riding this morning.”
“Riding?”
“Yes, I have stables at my vineyard now.”
“Oh, that must be nice,” Sarah said with a smile.
“It’s heavenly.” Marigold put her gloved hand to her chest. “I love my horses,” Marigold said, stepping around the shop, browsing.
“Anything I can help you find?”
“Actually, I came in to get my friend something for her dog, Ruffles.”
“Cute name.”
“It’s a Yorkshire terrier. Or what I call a Yorkshire terror.”
Sarah chuckled and came out from behind the counter. “They each have their own personalities.”
“So true,” Marigold said, picking up a squeaky toy. She pressed it, then let it go. It gave a loud squeak.
Rugby and Winston both bolted out from their respective sides of the boutique.
“Oh, well, what do we have here?” Marigold said, looking down at the dogs. “They are adorable. Both yours?”
“The yellow lab is. His name’s Rugby.”
“And this smaller fellow?”
“He followed me home before the storm the other night. I put flyers up around town.”
“Oh, yes, how could I miss those signs. That’s a shame that he’s lost, but at least he found a nice person to watch after him until he finds his rightful owners.”
Sarah smiled, appreciative of the compliment. She didn’t understand what Emma’s beef was with Marigold. She seemed so sweet, and Sarah considered herself to be a pretty good judge of character.
Marigold leaned down to pet each dog on the head, then glanced at the elegant gold watch on her wrist. “My goodness, I lost track of the time.” She grabbed a few items and placed them on the counter.
Sarah rung her up and said, “It’s so nice to see you again.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Marigold said, putting her sunglasses on.
Placing her items in a large paper bag with “Larry’s Pawfect Boutique” printed on it, Sarah handed them to Marigold.
“Good day, Sarah,” Marigold said, then strode out with the bag swinging by her side.
The doorbell chimed on her way back out to the boardwalk.
Sarah was left with the silence of the empty boutique.
An hour later, Emma returned to the boutique after “rescuing” Grandpa. Sarah leashed up the dogs and set out to spend the rest of the afternoon roaming around Cascade Cove. The weather was perfect, and she remembered to apply her sunscreen this time.
Rugby and Winston galloped along, eager to explore with Sarah.
Though she was concerned about the possibility of there being a killer on the loose, Sarah figured it could just as well still be an accident.
She pushed all thoughts of murder and deception to the back of her mind.
Today was hers to enjoy.
She was on vacation, after all.
“Want to go to Henry Fudderman’s?” she asked her companions.
Both responded by bounding forward lightly, pulling her toward the bakery as if they knew that’s where the famed Henry Fudderman was.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, trying to keep up with the excited duo.
She approached the bakery, and on her way in, she saw a couple coming out.
Both wore smiles on their faces.
That was a clear sign that someone had just enjoyed one of Fudderman’s many amazing creations.
Inside the bakery, Henry waved hello. His face was jolly red, as usual, matching the bowtie tucked under his chin, smile beaming.
“Sarah! Did your grandfather enjoy his Boardwalk Fudge Cake?”
“More than you could know.”
“Hopefully it didn’t ruin his dinner.”
Sarah felt the leashes tug slightly. “It was his dinner!”
Henry guffawed. “Sounds like Larry.”
“Pretty much.”
The old baker leaned over the counter, eyeing the corgi curiously. “Is that the fellow you mentioned? The one on your flyer?”
Sarah turned and saw her flyer on a board near the bakery’s entrance. “Yeah.”
“He’s quite the charmer. Nobody came forward as his owner?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll keep spreading the word,” Henry said.
“Thanks.”
Sarah ordered a Cascade Cruller, and Hen
ry placed one on a plate. “Just made these this morning.”
She paid and accepted the plate, taking it over to a table.
Taking a bite, she sighed. Her mouth watered instantly as the sweet, sugary pastry filled her mouth. It was crisp on the outside, and soft and fluffy on the inside. “Incredible.”
Henry interrupted her blissful moment. “So, did you hear?” he asked.
“Hear what?”
“Word is, in addition to the bump on the old man’s head, they found signs of a struggle.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “What clues told them that?”
“Couldn’t tell ya. I’m not into all the forensic lingo and jargon. But from what I’ve heard, they’re ruling it out being an accident.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Someone must’ve had it in for Jacobs, and they took care of him.”
Sarah’s mind went directly to Mr. Jacobs’ gardener, Orloff. She didn’t know what he looked like, nor had she met the guy yet. But from what she had gathered so far, he definitely would have it in for Jacobs. She had to remind herself that this was still hearsay. She could practically hear Adam’s voice echo in her mind. The rumor mill in Cascade Cove was churning at full force, like a riptide ready to sweep away anyone unable—or unwilling—to work through the problem objectively.
“Is that so?” Sarah said, nibbling on her cruller.
“Afraid it is. And right before the busy season. If it’s confirmed and goes to print…”
“It’ll be okay.”
“The summer will be ruined. Nobody wants to vacation with a murderer on the loose.”
Sarah nodded. The notion of there actually being a killer was apparently cemented in Henry’s mind.
But it made sense.
If there were signs of a struggle, a bump on the head, and plenty of reasons for Jacobs to be out of the picture, then all signs pointed to it being more than an accident.
Finishing her cruller, she said, “I’m sure they’ll catch whoever it is.”
“I hope so.”
On her way out, she waved bye to Henry. Before stepping out, she stopped dead in her tracks. She forgot to ask Henry something.
“Henry?”
“Yes, Sarah?”
“I have a question.”
“I might have an answer.”
“Have you seen Orloff Minsky?”
Chapter 10
Henry Fudderman’s face scrunched up. Sarah knew he was considering her question. “Orloff Minsky?” he asked. “That Russian fellow?”
“Yeah. So, have you seen him around?”
Sarah waited for the man to reply.
She heard the faint sound of the dogs panting.
The refrigerated display case humming softly.
An old car puttered by on the main strip.
Finally, Henry broke the awkward silence. “Hmm, I can’t say I have.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“I haven’t the faintest clue, to be honest. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering.” She kept her face neutral, trying not to give away the fact that Orloff might be a big piece of the Jacobs puzzle. A piece that was currently unaccounted for.
“If something comes to mind, I’ll give Larry a call.”
“Sounds good,” Sarah said.
She and Henry Fudderman said their goodbyes. Back out on the main strip, Sarah strode back to her grandpa’s.
The sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky, warming her face.
A light breeze tickled her skin, and she caught the unmistakable smell of salt water.
The dogs both walked on one side of her. A seagull swept overhead, squawking. Rugby seemed to notice the bird, but then set his gaze forward once again.
Up ahead, she saw her grandpa standing outside the boutique.
He turned and watched her and the dogs come toward him.
“Beautiful day,” he said, shading his eyes with one hand.
“I heard you had some car trouble.”
Larry shrugged.
“You know,” Sarah continued, “they’ve been making cars since the seventies. You could pick up a newer model.”
“Why fix what’s not broken?”
“At least get the gas gauge fixed.”
“I suppose I should,” Larry said. “I just—”
“What?”
“I want to make sure your grandma can travel when she wants to. Plus, I love that old car. They don’t make ’em like they used to.”
Sarah smiled.
“You know, Grandpa, as a young girl, you were always my favorite. You’re still my favorite.”
Larry’s face turned a light shade of red. “You sure know how to make an old man blush. Now, on to more serious matters…”
“Like what?”
“Well, I made another tray of brownies. You know, the one’s with chocolate chips,” he said, waggling his brows, “and they’re begging to be gobbled down.”
Sarah’s smile grew wider. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
Leave it to her grandpa to help remove any worry from her mind.
“Okay, you can go join Emma in the shop. I’ll go up to get the brownies and bring them down.”
“Sounds good.”
Larry rushed up the steps toward his apartment, apparently eager for an afternoon treat.
Sarah took the dogs into the boutique.
Emma was stocking the shelves with what looked like a recent order.
“Wow, they ship fast,” Sarah said, looking down at the box. “Do mom-and-pop boutique suppliers offer one-day delivery now?”
“I wish,” Emma said, hanging gem-spotted collars of various colors and sizes on the wall. “This is an order we placed last week that just got here. But feel the inside of these collars.” Emma held out one of the collars, a purple one, to Sarah. “They’re so soft.”
Sarah reached over to feel the inside. “Wow.”
“And aren’t they classy looking? They make them for both cats and dogs.” Emma held up the tiny, purple collar, eyeing it up. “I think I’m going to give this one to Misty.”
Misty, who was a ball of fur in her usual spot on the shelf, lifted her head to look at them. When she decided she wasn’t interested, she yawned and tucked her head back into her own poof of fur.
Emma and Sarah exchanged glances and chuckled. “That Misty never looks amused,” Sarah said.
“Not in the slightest.”
The bell above the door rang, and Sarah saw a couple enter, a beagle at the end of a leash. They might’ve been the same couple who she saw leaving Fudderman’s Bakery, but she couldn’t be sure. She certainly didn’t remember an accompanying beagle. On the cusp of busy-season, more and more people trickled into the area.
Soon, that trickle would turn into a flood.
Hopefully.
“Good afternoon,” Emma said to the couple.
The couple said hello and walked through the store, browsing. Their dog was sniffing around, as if investigating a crime scene. It had a white coat with patches of brown and black hair.
Rugby laid in the path of the couple, and they both smiled at him. The beagle sniffed Rugby, who paid no mind to the small hound.
“Hey, big fella,” the man said, his Georgian accent thick. It reminded Sarah of Marigold’s accent.
The man bent down and let Rugby sniff his hand. He rubbed Rugby behind the ear.
“He’s loving it,” the woman said.
Rugby cocked his head, enjoying the massage.
“And what’s your name?” the man said, still petting Rugby.
“His name’s Rugby,” Sarah said, walking over to the couple.
“Love that name.”
Sarah smiled and pet the beagle, feeling its smooth coat. “Thanks. So, what’s your dog’s name?”
“Sherlock.”
Sarah chuckled. “Do we have ourselves a sleuth?”
“He’s always nosing into everything,” the woman said. “Very inquisitiv
e.”
Just then, Sarah heard a scratching sound near the back of the store.
“What’s that?” Sarah asked Emma.
“Oh darn,” Emma said, hastily putting the last of the items on the shelf. “I keep forgetting Winston likes to take naps in Grandpa’s office. And I’m used to closing doors…”
Emma rushed over and opened the office door.
Winston pranced out and made his way over to Sherlock.
“A corgi!” the woman said. “I just love corgis. Phil, I keep telling you—”
“—we should get a corgi,” Phil said, finishing her sentence. “I know, Val…If you want, we should adopt one, then.”
“What’s her name?” Val asked.
“His name is Winston.”
“If we get a corgi,” Val said to Phil, “we should name it Watson.”
Sarah smiled at the couple. She saw Emma picking up the empty box, shaking her head at the conversation. Her cousin went to the back of the store to get another box to unload.
“That would be adorable,” Sarah said, smirking. “Sherlock and Watson.”
Winston and Sherlock sniffed one another, ignoring the humans who chatted above them. Rugby paid no mind to anybody, conked out from the relaxing massage. Misty, just as inquisitive as the hound, streaked past the canine trio. She didn’t stop to investigate, though.
“So, are these two both yours?” Phil asked Sarah.
“Just the sleeping giant. The other one followed me home the other night.”
“Oh my,” Val said, petting Winston.
“Yeah, but I have flyers all around town. If you hear of anyone looking for their lost corgi, tell them to stop by here.”
The couple finished petting the dogs. “Sure.”
They strode around the store, Sherlock nearby, still investigating.
After they bought a few items, they left, and the boutique was silent once more.
“Sherlock and Watson,” Emma muttered, rolling her eyes.
“What?” Sarah said, giving her cousin a look. “It’s cute!”
“Whatever.”
Larry rushed in. He carried a large serving plate filled with brownies.
“Special delivery!”
Sarah dug into the piping-hot brownies, taking her first bite. “Mmm.”
“Store bought?” Emma asked, eyeing them suspiciously.
Larry looked shocked.
Emma smirked. “What? Did I strike a nerve?”