Suds and Slayings

by Jemma Bard

  In high school, Violet first met Richard Odoom after a football celebration party when he’d, like a consummate gentleman, offered her his jacket as she sat shivering on the front porch. She was embarrassed to admit, but his jacket still sits in a box in the farthest recess of her bedroom closet.

  She knew it was ridiculous, albeit true.

  Chief Richard Odoom nodded at her. “Violet. Have the paramedics arrived yet?”

  His words brought her back to reality and the fact that her ex-father-in-law was dead right behind her shop. Violet shook her head as tears suddenly sprang to her eyes. “No,” she wisped out. “But I don’t think it matters.” Violet led him to the back storage room and pointed to the door leading to the alley. “I can’t look out there.”

  Richard nodded in understanding and placed a hand under her elbow, sensing the fact she felt as if she were about to faint. He disappeared into the night air for a moment and then met her in the storage room. He turned his head toward the walkie-talkie radio on his shoulder and spoke. “Call forensics, there’s been a suspicious death at Bubbles Boutique.” His eyes met Violet’s. “Violet, I need to secure the crime scene.”

  She cringed at his last two words. Her perfect boutique—a crime scene?

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “But I need your help until Carol Kincade from Cape Flower County Forensics arrives.”

  “Whatever you need,” she whispered, wiping another tear from her cheek.

  “Do you have a record of all in attendance tonight so I can follow up with them?”

  She nodded again. “Yes, most people registered, but the few who didn’t, signed in when they arrived.”

  He gave her a small smile. “Good.” He glanced past Violet and to the anxious crowd in the shop. Giving a sharp nod of his head to another officer, Richard spoke. “Officer Wells is getting their information now, but we’ll double-check to make sure it’s everyone on your list.”

  “Officer Wells?” she asked, realizing he must be the new officer she didn’t recognize earlier. “Oh, yeah.” Violet shook her head from side to side. “You said it was a suspicious death…” She paused and took a deep breath. “Does that mean Gordon was…murdered?”

  Richard pressed his lips together. “You know I can’t answer that, Violet.” But Violet had known Richard long enough to see through his expressions. The way his eyes shifted to the office door when she asked him the question told her the answer was yes.

  Violet looked down to her hands where she fidgeted with the hem of her cardigan. “A murder?” She put a hand to her head, hiding watering eyes, thinking back to the last big case Cape Flower had seen fifteen years ago when she was in seventh grade.

  Richard’s eyes softened. He placed a gentle hand to her forearm and spoke cautiously. “I’ll just have to ask you a few questions, if you’re up for it.”

  A sudden feeling of nausea overcame her as she swooned forward. Richard caught her, his warm hands grabbing onto the space just behind Violet’s elbows to steady her.

  For Violet, this was all too real. All too familiar—because the last unsolved crime in the perfect beach town of Cape Flower was Violet’s own sister’s disappearance.

  She swallowed. “Whatever you need.”

  Chapter 5

  Three hours later, after Richard and Officer Wells took statements and hand swabs of everyone on the scene, Violet arrived home to her quaint lavender-colored cottage on Chestnut Street, overwhelmed and exhausted. She’d decided not to take Ralphie to the bubbles event, so the only good thing about tonight was Ralphie greeting her as soon as the front door swung open.

  “There’s my favorite boy!” Violet said, bending over and rubbing Ralphie’s head. His tail wagged fast in response.

  Violet tossed her house keys on the entry table and took the narrow hallway to her right that led to her bedroom—the only bedroom in the 900-square-foot cottage of coziness. She took the hottest, longest shower of her life, hoping to wash away everything that’d occurred that night, then slipped into her favorite pair of polka-dotted pajamas. She made herself a cup of chai tea, got comfy on the couch with Ralphie curled up by her side, his head in her lap, and put on an old episode of Murder, She Wrote. As soon as the quaint coastal village of Cabot Cove flashed on the screen, Violet turned it off. That, mixed with the death of Gordon Preston, mixed with flashbacks of her own sister’s disappearance, were a bit too much for Violet tonight.

  Ever since Violet’s older sister Claire went missing when she was twelve years old, Violet had formed a sort of obsession with missing person’s cases, murders, and mysteries in general. Starting then, and to this day even, she binge-watched old episodes of Murder, She Wrote pretty much every night before bed: picking apart clues, scrutinizing potential suspects. There was something comforting about Jessica Fletcher and Cabot Cove, a coastal town similar to Cape Flower, and she always admired Jessica’s observation skills, her ability to always be at the right place at the right time, and her gut-feelings mixed with that knack for storytelling and plot that helped her solve the crimes.

  But what Violet liked most was the latter—that J.B. Fletcher solved the crimes. It always gave Violet hope that any mystery could be solved, that justice would be served, and that maybe one day she’d stumble upon just the right clues to lead her to Claire.

  And although Jessica Fletcher was, indeed, a fictional character, Violet aspired to be like her, even if she was a boutique bath goods business owner and not an author of bestselling mysteries with a knack for mystery-solving.

  “Maybe I’ll read tonight, Ralphie.” He nuzzled his nose into Violet’s side in agreement. She grabbed the latest issue of Small Business Entrepreneur, and just as she began reading an article titled “Growing Your Business While Growing Out of Debt,” the doorbell rang.

  Really?

  “Who’d be here at eleven o’clock?”

  Violet ran back to her bedroom, wrapped a robe around herself, and opened the door just as the bell chimed one more time.

  “Richard?” Violet asked, surprised at his unannounced appearance. She pulled the material of her robe tighter around her, fully aware and anxious about the mascara smudge under her eyes she hadn’t yet wiped away.

  “Hi, Violet.” Chief Richard Odoom took off his hat and nodded, his eyes quickly scanning her body and then settling on her green eyes. “Can I come in for a moment?”

  Violet opened the door farther for him to slip inside and as soon as he did, she caught a familiar mixture of pine and clove. “Baxter Duke’s Green Tree,” she said, inhaling once more as Richard stepped fully into her house.

  Richard spun around. “Did you just smell me?” he asked, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

  Violet looked to the floor. “I’m…um…I’m sorry,” she stumbled through an apology. “It’s a habit. When you passed by I caught a hint of Baxter Duke brand’s newest scent—Green Tree. And at first I wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was that, so I had to do a second sniff to be certain and…”

  Stop rambling, Violet, she chastised herself.

  Raphie’s tail wagged fast and he yipped in excitement, begging for Richard’s attention almost as if he knew Violet needed a save from the awkward interaction right now.

  Thank goodness, good boy.

  Richard laughed and reached into his pocket. “I didn’t forget about you, buddy!” he said, pulling a dog biscuit out and tossing it to Ralphie.

  Violet smiled, taken aback by the gesture, and bit the side of her lip. Looks like Ralphie had distracted Richard enough for him to forget about the whole sniffing him incident.

  Richard grabbed another treat and tossed it to Violet’s favorite furry friend. “I always keep treats in my pocket,” he explained, rubbing Ralphie at his favorite place—just behind the ears.

  Violet gestured toward her adjoining kitchen and led Richard to the island where a plate of blueberry muffins sat. “Can I get you anything to eat? To drink?”

  Richard shook his head. “I�
�m fine, really.” His gaze met Violet’s, his expression turning serious. “I know this has been a rough day for you, Violet, but I’m going to have to ask you a few more questions.”

  She wrapped her hands tighter around her teacup. “But I told you everything I knew at my shop.”

  Richard pressed his lips together. “Carol Kincade in forensics came across some items as she was processing the scene.”

  Violet ran her fingers around the lip of her cup. “Okay…” she prompted.

  “And I just need to ask you a few more questions.”

  “You already said that,” Violet responded too quickly, this whole situation putting her on edge. “Sorry.” She bit the side of her lip. “But ask away.”

  Richard looked toward the floor, obviously as uneasy about having to ask Violet these questions as she was to answer them. “Is there anyone you know of who would want to harm Gordon Preston?”

  Violet pulled her lips to the side. “Well…the entire town for starters, but you already know that.”

  Richard simply nodded. “Any one person or group specifically?”

  “Well…” she started. “Not the entire town, I guess. Just the shop owners mainly.”

  He took a pad and pen from his pocket and began taking notes. “And why’s that?”

  “If Gordon didn’t like someone, he’d raise their rent to such a high rate, virtually nobody could pay.”

  “Did he do this to you?”

  “Never.” Violet shook her head. “After the divorce from Michael—”

  “Gordon’s son,” Richard jumped in.

  “Yes.” She played with the belt of her robe and felt her heart pick up speed. She hated that the mere mention of her terrible ex could do that to her. She swallowed down the unease and spoke. “After that, I think he felt bad for the way his son treated me, so when I went to open my shop, he was very generous with my rent.”

  Richard smiled, prompting her to continue. “And in the almost two years I’ve been open, he hasn’t raised it once.” Violet narrowed her eyes and leaned toward Richard, a wave of Jessica Fletcher’s sleuthiness rolling over her. “Do you think it was another shop owner?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Richard pressed his lips together. “But we’ll look into it.”

  Violet took a sip of tea, her hands shaking the cup as she did. “This can’t be about rent…about money…could it?”

  Richard set the pen on the island. “When it comes to homicide, there are usually three distinct motives: love, revenge, or—”

  “Money.”

  “Precisely,” Richard said with force, his eyes now locked on her in a way that made her feel uneasy—as if he didn’t just want to ask her a few simple questions.

  Violet swallowed hard, a feeling in the pit of her stomach telling her this would be more of an interrogation rather than simple questioning. “But none of those things have anything to do with me.”

  “Well…” Richard pulled out his phone, scrolled through the screen, and then slid it across the island in front of her.

  “What’s this?” Violet asked, staring at a pdf of some kind of official document.

  “It’s a page from Gordon’s will we found on Gordon’s phone,” Richard said matter-of-factly.

  Violet giggled nervously. “And why are you showing it to me?”

  “After you and Michael divorced, Gordon never took you out of it.”

  She scrunched her face in confusion. “I was never aware I was in Gordon’s will to begin with…with his son and my pre-nup, I never…” This felt so unreal.

  Richard ran a hand across his brow. “So you didn’t know upon Gordon’s death you’d receive a sum of money?”

  “No.” Violet shook her head. “Nobody ever told me that.” Her cup shook harder in her hands. “What are you saying, Richard?”

  Richard took back his phone, pinched the screen to zoom in, and then passed it back to Violet. “Right there.” He pointed to a single sentence and Violet’s heart felt as if it pounded in her throat.

  “Wha—” She swallowed and then read the sentence aloud, her voice trembling as she did. “To Violet Oleander I bequeath the sum of seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  Violet’s jaw literally dropped as she shook her head in disbelief. “This can’t be right, Richard.”

  Richard tapped the phone once more. “We found the document queued up on his phone, so I’m guessing he was on his way to show it to you.”

  Violet let out a breath she didn’t know she held in. “And on his way there someone killed him?”

  “Perhaps…” Richard’s serious eyes met hers. “I’m sorry, Violet, but family.” He cleared his throat. “Or former family members set to inherit a great sum of money are always at the top of the suspect list when foul play is involved.”

  Violet’s keen mystery-viewing habits confirmed what he said. “I know, but I’m not the only one to benefit from his death.”

  “That’s just the thing.” Richard took a breath, almost as if to steady himself. “He left you the same amount as his wife and son.”

  Violet had never felt more confused, more blindsided in her life. “What? I don’t…” She looked at him in disbelief.

  Richard put his phone away. “I made a call to Gordon’s attorney before I came here, Violet.”

  “Okay?” she promoted.

  Richard shifted his weight. “Two weeks ago, Gordon updated his will. You were willed the large sum of money you just saw, the same goes for his wife and son, and the rest of his fortune he chose to bequeath to a variety of Cape Flower charities and organizations.”

  “Like what?”

  Richard simply shook his head, unable to say anything more.

  “This is just insane!”

  Twenty years of Murder, She Wrote could never have prepared Violet Oleander for this.

  Chapter 6

  “So you’re a suspect?” Cale asked the next morning, grabbing Violet’s vanilla cappuccino from the coffee bar and bringing it to her. They sat at a table in the front window of Déjà Brew. For obvious reasons, Violet closed Bubbles Boutique shop today, so Cale and she met here for some coffee and scones before heading into the boutique to make sure the cleaning crew forensics sent in did a decent job.

  Since the murder did occur right outside Bubbles Boutique, Richard told Violet last night that he had his team briefly scour the boutique, office, and storage room for any additional evidence they could find.

  Violet pushed last night’s incident from her head as best she could and smiled, happy to be where she was in this moment. After the divorce, she’d consciously made an effort to be more present and in the moment, not getting caught up in her thoughts or spiral down the what if path. But that was easier said than done.

  The scent of freshly baked blueberry scones mixed with espresso wafted through the air. Violet inhaled once more, hoping the breath would calm her down a bit. She sighed, smelling the warm vanilla-y aroma that emanated from her mug and then decided happy time was over. It was time to update Cale on all-things murder suspect. “Apparently most everyone who attended my Bubbles and Bubbles event last night was dismissed as suspects—but I have more of a motive than others.”

  Cale pursed his lips. “You have more of a motive?”

  Violet lowered her voice. “Chief Richard Odoom stopped by my house last night.”

  Cale shimmied his shoulder. “Bow-chicka-wow-wowwww,” he taunted.

  Violet pursed her lips. “Come on, Cale. It was strictly a professional visit.”

  “When are you going to get back out there, Violet? It’s been like ten years since you’ve gone on real date.”

  Violet rolled her eyes; she and Michael split two years ago, and she did go on a semi-date a few months after that. “It’s only been about a year and a half, thank you very much,” she stated, taking a sip of her drink.

  Ever since Michael and Violet divorced, Cale, who never really cared for Michael to begin with, had been trying to set her up wi
th every eligible bachelor in Cape Flower, and wow, the pickings were and are still slim. Violet eventually relented to his pestering and went out with Samuel Prinkett, Eloise’s son, three months after her divorce. That date went up in flames—literally. Violet and Samuel had just met for dinner at the Pink Pig Tavern at the Congress Hall hotel when the maître d’ appeared on the patio, penguin attire and all, announcing the kitchen caught fire and everyone needed to leave as soon as possible. Instead of finding a different restaurant, Violet went home for the evening. It was as if fate were saying you’re not ready yet, Violet.

  And Violet hadn’t been ready since. She peered at Cale over the lip of her mug. “You know I’m too busy to date.”

  Cale kicked his head back and laughed. “Yes, too busy with bingeing Murder She Writes, or whatever that ridiculous show is, self-soothing yourself with baking, and cuddling up with your dog like some eighty-year-old woman.” He tilted his head to the side and then put up his pointer finger. “Oh, wait…my grandmother is eighty, and she gets more action than Violet Oleander.”

  “Shhh,” Violet shushed. She narrowed her eyes, wondering how and why she and Cale had remained friends over these years. “I know you say it all with love.”

  “You just let me know when you’re ready.” Cale spoke sincerely this time and grabbed Violet’s hand. He smiled. “I’m ready to give you a makeover whenever you are.”

  Violet chuckled, forgetting her previous thought about remaining friends. She couldn’t not have Cale in her life. After Ralphie and her aunt Loretta, Cale was all Violet had. Life hadn’t been exactly kind to her. Both of her parents had died in a car accident just six years after Claire’s disappearance. It was Violet’s aunt Loretta and Cale who’d helped Violet pick up the pieces, put her life back together.