Suds and Slayings

by Jemma Bard

  “In the flesh.” Violet took a sip of her coffee and sighed.

  “Hmm.” Cale turned to her. “Well, I just hope something comes up and she can’t make it.”

  “You and me both,” Violet muttered.

  Ralphie followed Violet as she moved to the storage room in back to start a fresh batch of lavender soap, hoping the hot soap-making process, one that took a lot of attention to detail and measurement, would distract her from thinking about her barely thriving business.

  Under her breath, she muttered once more, “You and me both.”

  Chapter 3

  Violet decided to enjoy the mid-October later that evening, so she walked to her shop for the Bubbles and Bubbles event she hosted every other month. The cool fall air cut through the material of her sweater, so she wrapped it tighter around her torso. As she passed by the various shops on the block one down from hers, she couldn’t help but smile at the season’s little reminders—white and orange pumpkins in front of Atlantic Book Company, two black cats wearing witches’ hats adorning the windows of Raven’s Psychic Services, and chrysanthemums lining the sidewalk in front of Cape Flower’s Flowers.

  She crossed Decatur and passed by INKed to see Nate closing up shop for the night. “Hey, Violet,” he said, his tattoo-sleeve-covered arm pulling the door closed behind him while balancing a box of work supplies in the other. He scratched at the back of his head. “I meant to catch you…I’m sorry about what you heard this morning.”

  Violet put two hands up. “It was none of my business,” she said, “but I know you’re not the only one tired of Gordon’s antics,” she admitted. It was no secret Sylvia from Déjà Brew had it out with Gordon just last week over a storefront sign issue, and he had even riled up the postman, sweet Mr. Brock Bennett, after he’d mistakenly sent a piece of mail to the Victorian home next to his on Perry Street.

  “I guess every town needs a curmudgeon,” Nate said. He gave Violet a halfhearted smile. “Well, have a good evening, Violet.”

  “You too,” she chirped, making her way to her shop. Violet had asked Cale to set up for tonight’s event, so when she arrived, roughly six guests were already in the shop—one of them being Mrs. Eloise Prinkett—town gossip extraordinaire.

  “I’ve been waiting weeks for this!” Eloise exclaimed, grabbing what Violet guessed was her second glass of champagne and not-so-gingerly gulping it down. She wiped her lips with the back of her thick wrist, leaving a trail of bright pink lipstick behind. “And Bubbles and Bubbles for the event name.” She chuckled hard and her laugh ended with a snort. “Always the clever one.”

  Violet smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Prinkett. You taught me well,” she teased.

  Eloise flicked her wrist at Violet, and five bangled bracelets of various colors and widths jangled as she did. “I haven’t been your teacher in twenty-five years, Violet. Please call me Eloise.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Prinkett…I mean, Eloise. I’ll try,” Violet murmured. Mrs. Prinkett was her sixth-grade English teacher, and although she had, indeed, been out of her class for twenty-five years, it was difficult to shed the habit of formality. In Violet’s mind, Eloise would always be Mrs. Prinkett—eccentric English teacher. When she’d retired ten years ago, Eloise replaced her teaching and love of figurative language with gardening, gossip, and the language of always-being-in-everybody-else’s business.

  Eloise’s eyes moved to the front door and she pushed up her thick, purple-framed glasses. “Now look at that little tart.” She pointed toward the entryway where Willa Page waltzed inside, wearing a tight pink dress with sky-high fluorescent heels to match.

  How is she not freezing in this weather? Violet thought.

  Willa’s stencil-lined eyes scanned over the heads of the other event participants, obviously in search of something. Or someone.

  “Tsk. Tsk.” Mrs. Prinkett tisked between teeth, her eyes not yet budging from Willa. “Such a shame…”

  Her voice trailed off, but Violet’s interest was piqued. “What’s such a shame?” she asked.

  “Oh, nothing!” Eloise pushed the air with her hand. “I think I’ll just mingle a bit until it’s soap-making time!” She threw back the last dribbles of champagne in her flute and then moved on to greet Cale.

  Violet turned to see the vision in pink standing in front of her.

  “Thanks so much for inviting me, Violet. I can’t wait to see what all the hub-bub is about for your little frivolous event,” Willa said while planting air kisses on both of her cheeks.

  “Um…” Violet stuttered. What a passive-aggressive witch? She pushed the thought away and smiled. “Glad you could come,” she lied. “Just grab yourself a glass of champagne. The soap-making class will begin in just a moment.”

  Willa wrinkled her nose. “Can you point me in the direction of your restroom?” she asked.

  Violet gestured toward the back of the shop. “Just behind that door is the storage room. Once in there, it will be the first door on the right.”

  Willa waltzed toward the back of the shop.

  “Willa!” Violet threw a hand to her head, suddenly remembering something. “I make my own soaps using the hot process, so I have a few of my pots in the storage area heating.” Violet smiled, weighing whether or not to say the next words. “Just be careful if you decide to…snoop.”

  “Oh!” Willa exclaimed, shifting the weight on her heels. Violet could tell by the sudden deer-in-headlights look on Willa’s face she was taken aback by her comment. Either that or Willa had no idea what a hot process was, something any professional soap-crafter knew. Violet’s boutique specialized in handmade bathing goods, and from what she’d heard, Willa’s store carried products that came straight from an assembly line.

  Willa pressed her lips together and nodded. “Thank you, Verbena.”

  Violet’s eyes grew wide. “It’s Violet,” she called after her, her eyes shooting imaginary daggers through Willa’s back.

  As soon as Willa disappeared behind the storage room door, Cale slid next to Violet. “Did she just call you a verbena?” he teased.

  Violet smacked his chest. “Shut up and grab me another bottle of champagne from the back.”

  Cale shook his head. “No can do. Roberto, that new bartender from Surf and Sand Bar over on Ocean Drive, just walked in, and I have some flirting to do.” Cale shimmied his shoulders, his go-to Cale move ever since Violet had met him in the seventh grade.

  She tilted her head and chuckled. “How did I not know you were gay back then?”

  “All the signs were there, toot-sweets.” And that ridiculous nickname he bestowed upon Violet years ago should have told her too. Cale batted his enviably long eyelashes, turned, and proceeded to sashay across the boutique to greet Roberto in front of the lotion display.

  Violet moved to the front door and greeted a few tourists and mostly Cape Flower residents—Winifred Owens, the owner of Across the Bay gift shop; Tallie Weston from the historic Cape Flower Inn next to the Batter Mad on Jackson; Sylvia Hernandez, barista extraordinaire at Déjà Brew, and…

  “It can’t be,” Violet whispered to herself, then she spoke to the woman who’d just entered. “Jacqueline?”

  Jacqueline Preston, Violet’s former mother-in-law, fluttered past her without so much as a hello, looking like a butterfly as her white linen pants and matching flowing top flittered behind her.

  “Have you seen my husband?” Jacqueline asked, peering over the people in attendance and then circling back to Violet. She narrowed her eyes and glanced around the boutique once more, much like Willa Page had done just a few moments ago.

  Violet shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jacqueline. The last I saw…well, heard him, was this morning.”

  “Well,” Jacqueline spat, her red lips pressing together. “Gordon claimed he had some business or other to attend to in town.” She peered around the room once again, then her icy blue eyes met Violet’s. “And it is of the utmost importance I speak with him. Now.”

  Violet loo
ked toward Cale for a save, but he was caught up in flirtatious conversation with his soon-to-be new beau. She turned her attention to her former monster-in-law. “Again, he’s not here, Jacqueline.”

  “Humph. Well, at least make my trip to your”—she grimaced—“little store worthwhile.” Jacqueline flicked her hand at Violet, showing off her perfectly manicured fingernails.

  “I…um…” Get it together, Violet. All these years of knowing Jacqueline Preston and her mere presence still intimidated her.

  Jacqueline huffed and pointed to a tipsy Mrs. Prinkett and her third flute. “Dear goodness, girl. Can’t you find me a glass of champagne?”

  Violet held her tongue. “And are you staying for the soap demonstration?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  Jacqueline blinked a slow, drawn-out blink, as if to ask, are you kidding me? “I’d rather just have some champagne,” she responded, lips pursed in her typical fashion.

  “Right.” Violet nodded like the consummate good ex-daughter-in-law. Best thing to do was get a fresh bottle of champagne, pour a to-go glass for Jacqueline, and then send her on her merry way to do a little window-shopping down Washington Square.

  Violet faux-smiled at her. “Just give me a moment,” she said as politely as she could muster.

  She pushed her way through the ever-growing crowd and moved into the back hallway. To Violet’s right was the restroom, directly across the hallway, to her left was her cubical of an office, and straight ahead was where the hallway opened up into one large storage-slash-soap-making room.

  Although Violet’s mission was to go in her office and grab a fresh bottle of bubbly rosé from the mini-fridge tucked underneath her desk, Violet’s eyes locked on the door at the end of the hallway that led to the back ally—a door that was supposed to be closed and locked at all times. “That’s odd,” Violet said aloud, noticing the door sat slightly ajar. “Cale,” she muttered.

  It wouldn’t have been Cale’s first time forgetting to close tightly and lock the door. But Violet was certain after the cat incident a few months back—an incident that resulted in a stray cat getting into the storage room and eating citrus-scented lotion and the citrus-scented chaos that ensued—that he’d learned his lesson.

  Violet rushed down the hallway to close it, knowing Jacqueline Preston was growing more and more intolerable in the shop without her champagne. As she pulled the door closed, though, it simply wouldn’t latch shut. She grabbed the handle again and gave it a solid tug. “Come on,” she muttered.

  Great. Just another thing that needed repaired. Last week it was the air conditioner, today it was the door, and the electrician told Violet over a month ago the entire shop was a fire-waiting-to-happen with its outdated wiring. She’d have to sell about four thousand bars of soap to pay for something like that.

  “Do you need help?” Willa asked, stepping out of the restroom behind Violet, her heels clicking on the wood-planked floor.

  Violet huffed. Just what she needed—Willa Page seeing just how much her shop was in disrepair. “Door’s just stuck is all. No biggie,” Violet said nonchalantly.

  She turned to see a smile on Willa’s face, but this time the smile looked genuine. Of course she was excited to see the poorer condition of her shop.

  “Anything I can help you with?” Willa purred, her voice laced with faux sympathy.

  “I’m good,” Violet said, tugging on the door once more to no avail.

  Willa stepped closer. “There’s something down there,” she said, pointing to the bottom of the hinged side of the door. A piece of black plastic, or maybe it was leather…Violet couldn’t tell…wasn’t allowing the door to fully close.

  “That explains it.” Violet let out a sigh of relief that it wasn’t something more serious that she had to suddenly come up with the money to replace.

  Willa reached down and pulled whatever was keeping the door from latching. “I can’t get it to move,” she said, trying once more. “It must be part of something outside.”

  “I knew that,” Violet said, already thinking it in her head. It grated her to no end that Willa had said it before her. Violet kept two garbage totes in the Carpenter Alley just outside the door, so maybe some trash fell out or something. “Let me check.”

  Violet pushed on the door, but that proved just as difficult as it was to close. “What is going on?” she muttered. She put her shoulder into the door for leverage and then pushed again. This time she was able to nudge whatever was holding the door closed, because the door opened just enough for Violet’s petite five-foot-two frame to slip through.

  And that’s when she saw the thing…a large lump of what appeared in the dark night air to be black material…blocking and simultaneously jamming the door. The only light came from the moon, so she took out her phone and turned on the flashlight, hoping to find a good place to move the…

  “Body!” Violet screamed, throwing a hand to her face.

  “What?” Willa asked, her head popping outside to have a look.

  “Call 9-1-1!” Violet demanded, looking at the body on the ground and the dark purple line across the neck.

  Willa peeked her head around the edge of the door once more, and obviously got a look this time. “Noooo!” she shrieked. “Gor—”

  Violet snapped a finger at her, an attempt to move Willa’s focus to Violet and away from the person on the ground. “Willa!” she yelled. “Call someone, now!”

  Violet glanced to the pavement once more where Gordon Preston lay.

  It didn’t take a coroner to tell her Gordon Preston—her ex-father-in-law and the town’s number-one enemy—was dead.

  Chapter 4

  “There’s been an incident here,” Violet announced to the dozen or so Cape Flower residents and guests who stood in her shop, awaiting an evening of soap-making. Her voice shook as she spoke.

  “What is it?” Sylvia asked.

  “Yeah,” Roberto,” Cale’s new beau said. “We all heard the screams from out back.”

  Violet cleared her throat, unsure of how to say this, and actually a bit surprised at how calm she was considering what she witnessed. “There’s a body behind the shop,” she said matter-of-factly, but still in shock.

  “Hmmph,” a clearly perturbed Mrs. Prinkett muttered, her face taking on a I-had-a-bit-too-much-to-drink hue of pink. “I don’t understand, Violet. A body?”

  Violet nodded and swallowed as an image of the dead Gordon Preston flashed across her mind. “A dead body.”

  A rush of patrons came up to her…asking if she needed help with anything, asking her for details, asking who the dead person was. Of course, Mrs. Prinkett nudged herself to the front of the pack. Violet had to make herself a physical barrier between the boutique and the hallway leading to Gordon’s body.

  Cale came to Violet’s rescue, standing between her and everyone else. “Chief Odoom will be here in a matter of seconds,” he announced. “So it’d probably be a good idea for everyone to just remain where they are until then.”

  Violet nodded. “Cale’s right.” She looked toward the back room door and shuddered just thinking about what stood…no…what lay behind it.

  “I don’t have time for these theatrics. I’m going home,” Jacqueline Preston said, her sharp voice cutting through the noise. Violet’s stomach flipped as she made her way to her former mother-in-law. There was no way she’d be the one to tell her about her husband. “Jacqueline, I think you should stay until…”

  “Until what, dear?” she spat, lips pursed.

  Violet looked to Cale for a save, and like a good best friend, he did just that yet again. He swooped around Violet and grabbed Jacqueline’s hand. “Until I have a chance to introduce you to these new luxe scents,” he said, guiding her to the lotion display near the front window. “Might as well sample while we wait.” For whatever reason, Jacqueline Preston never liked Violet, her former daughter-in-law, but she always adored her best friend.

  Violet looked to the clock above the cash register
. The police station was a mere five-minute walk away, so it should only be a matter of seconds before Cape Flower’s finest, Chief Richard Odoom, arrived on the scene.

  “Where is he?” Violet said, pacing back and forth in front of the storefront’s bay window.

  Cale put both hands on Violet’s shoulder, stopping her in place, and then straightened out her posture. “Much better,” he said, spinning her around toward him. He raised his eyebrows up and down, to which Violet responded by rolling her eyes.

  “I know what you’re doing, and you’re absolutely ridiculous.”

  Cale tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and tugged on the side of her cardigan, pulling out the wrinkles. “I know.” He pursed his lips. “But you need to look your best, even in this grandma-esque sweater you insist upon wearing, because here comes Officer Muscles.”

  Violet huffed. “There’s been a murder in my shop, and all you can think about is setting me up with the chief of police?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re as bad as my aunt Loretta.”

  “Don’t forget, before that dirtbag Michael swept you off your feet, you had a crush on Richard Odoom, and don’t even try to deny it.” He flicked his wrist. “Besides, I do what I have to do to help out my bestie.” He grabbed Violet’s arms and uncrossed them. “Now stand up straight and smile.”

  “A little hard to do right now, Cale,” she responded through clenched teeth. Violet loved her best friend, really she did. But his insistence on setting her up went a little far tonight. There was a dead body no more than twenty-five feet away.

  Officer Richard Odoom parked his cruiser on the brick-lined walking street out front and he and an officer Violet didn’t recognize moved toward the front door. Darn it, Violet thought, unable to stop the slight smile from curling up her face.

  Richard was everything a storybook Hallmark hero should be. He protected the lives of Cape Flower citizens. He was smart. He was recently single after his wife of six years decided a life in New York City suited her better than small-town living. And best of all, Richard Odoom had tall, dark, and handsome down to a science with his light brown eyes, lean yet muscular six-foot stature, styled black hair, and smooth tan skin. Football all-star turned town police chief.