by Jemma Bard
“But he wasn’t at my shop to meet his mistress, Jacqueline,” Violet said with a sudden wave of confidence, things piecing together. “When Gordon died, he’d had the page of his will mentioning me on his phone. He came to Bubbles Boutique to see me.” And Violet was sure Gordon didn’t realize the Bubbles and Bubbles event was going on, because if he had known, he wouldn’t have come. And if he wouldn’t have come then maybe he’d still be…Violet couldn’t finish the thought.
A tear slid down Jacqueline’s cheek. “But he died instead.”
“Jacqueline,” Violet spoke firmly. “You do realize the person trying to blackmail you could be the murderer?”
Jacqueline crossed her arms. “Of course that crossed my mind, but I still think whoever that little jezebel is had something to do with it. Gordon would never leave me for another woman, and if he cut it off what that woman, she’d have a very strong reason to kill him.”
Violet had to admit Jacqueline was right. Love, rather, love gone wrong, was a strong motivator to harm someone.
Violet took a sip of her coffee, thinking over what she’d just learned. “So you have no idea who the woman is?” she asked.
Jacqueline shook her head. “No…and it doesn’t matter now anyway.”
“So you didn’t kill him?” Violet muttered softly, and by the look Jacqueline gave her, she’d heard.
“If I were going to hurt anyone it’d be the other woman,” she said matter-of-factly, a glint of hurt in her eye.
“Jacqueline.” Violet folded up the note and passed it back to her former mother-in-law. “You need to go to the police with this.”
“Ha!” Jacqueline spat. “Then I’d be the prime suspect—distraught wife who sought revenge on her husband because he was having an affair?” She shoved the anonymous note in her purse. “Not likely.”
“You know Chief Odoom will find out eventually. Everyone in this town talks.”
Jacqueline sniffed. “Oh, I know that.”
“And maybe they can get some clues from that note.”
She patted her purse where the letter was safely tucked. “Well, it’s mine and they’re not touching it.”
Violet knew Jacqueline well enough to see that her word was final.
She reached a hand across the table and squeezed her ex-mother-in-law’s arm. “I’m really sorry for your loss, Jacqueline.”
Jacqueline’s wet eyes met her, and for the briefest of seconds, Violet thought she might even say something kind in response.
“Well.” Jacqueline pulled away. “This has been…interesting. I’ll see you at the memorial tomorrow.” She stood, grabbed her order of scones from the front counter, and waltzed out the door, not once looking back.
Chapter 10
Later that afternoon, Violet decided to pay a visit to Mrs. Eloise Prinkett. It was a gorgeous fall afternoon of sun and a temperature of fifty-eight degrees, so Violet and Ralphie walked the four and a half blocks to Columbia Avenue where Eloise Prinkett’s robin’s-egg-blue historic Victorian home stood. “Typical Mrs. Prinkett,” Violet muttered, noticing the not-so-subtle pops of fall foliage as she pushed open the faux-leaf-covered wrought-iron gate. Bright orange pumpkins lined the path leading to a wraparound front porch complete with a ceramic black cat planter, two owl figurines, and what appeared to be two dozen chrysanthemum plants in burgundy planters suspended from the porch ceiling.
When Eloise Prinkett decorated, she decorated.
Just as Violet stepped onto the porch, a voice boomed from behind. “Hello, there!”
“Whoa!” Violet jumped at the voice and spun around to see Eloise standing behind her with a large-brimmed hat on her head and a gardening shovel in her hand. “Where did you come from?” she asked, placing a hand to her chest. Her heart thrummed wickedly through her sweater and she realized Gordon’s unsolved murder had her more on edge than she thought.
“Over there,” Eloise said, gesturing toward her side yard with the hand shovel.” Eloise giggled and her red cheeks jiggled right along. “I had to move a lavender bush to the side of the house near my glider.”
“Oh…” was all Violet said, knowing Eloise Prinkett needed no prompting to explain why.
“You see.” She nudged her glasses up her nose with the back of her hand. “You see, in the evenings I like to read my romance books while rocking on my glider, but I’ve been having a bit of a mosquito problem lately. Did you know lavender is a natural repellent?” She chuckled again. “Well, that and tea tree oil. But do you know why I won’t be planting a tea tree in my side yard?” she asked.
“I don’t.” Violet shook her head, knowing the answer was coming…
Eloise threw a hand in the air. “Because the melaleuca alternifolia plant is on the other side of the world in Australia.”
“Hmm,” Violet started, “that’s fascinating, Mrs. Prinkett.”
“It’s Eloise, remember?” Eloise Prinkett snapped two fingers and tisked. “Come on over Winston. Look who’s here to see us!”
Sure enough, Eloise’s ten-year-old Himalayan cat who she named after her favorite leader, Winston Churchill, ran to Eloise’s side, the bells around his neck jingling with every step.
Ralphie sprang forward, pulling Violet along with him. “It’s just Winston, Ralphie,” Violet said, rubbing him behind the ear. “You like him.”
Winston cautiously tiptoed forward, and he and Ralphie rubbed noses like two dogs saying hello.
Eloise bent down and picked up Winston. She gave him exactly three kisses on the top of his head where the dark fur around his face met gray, and then sat him down to say hello to Ralphie once more.
This time Ralphie hid behind Violet’s legs. “Come on, Ralphie,” Violet nudged. “Winston always was more like a dog, huh?”
“He sure is.” Eloise set her tools in a gardening bucket next to the steps, and met Violet on the porch. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” she asked. “Something to do with that murder business behind your shop?”
Violet bit her lip, chewing off some of her cherry Chapstick. “Actually, yes.” They sat down on two white rocking chairs with pillows reading Happy Fall, Y’all. “The other morning, Sylvia mentioned something about Gordon having an affair.”
Eloise’s eyes widened, surely enjoying the prospect of gossiping this afternoon. “Well, yes.”
Violet continued. “And just today Jacqueline admitted she knew about the affair.”
“Ahh!” Eloise’s hand shot to her chest. Winston jumped up on Eloise’s lap, and she placed two pudgy hands over his ears, as if their talk was too scandalous for a feline to hear. “Well, I heard from Tallie who heard it first-hand that he’d been seeing someone for going on a year now.”
“Who was it, Eloise?” Violet asked, feeling her heart beat faster in her chest. If Jacqueline’s hunch was right, then whomever he was seeing on the side may have killed Gordon.
“Well, you know her,” Eloise said, her eyes locking with Violet’s. She leaned to her left, so her and Violet’s elbows almost touched. “That tart Willa Page, of course,” she whispered.
Things started to click in place. “Of course,” Violet said. “Little tart…that’s why you called her that at my Bubbles and Bubbles event.”
Eloise pursed her lips. “Well, that and the scandalous pink outfit she wore.” She sighed. “But I just hate spreading this gossip, what with the poor man dead and all.”
Violet nodded, acknowledging Eloise Prinkett’s little fib—of course Eloise loved spreading the gossip. Eloise continued to speak, but Violet wasn’t focusing on her words. She was thinking back, instead, to the night Gordon died. It’d been Willa Page who’d helped Violet with the door, revealing Gordon’s body.
And it was Willa Page who took a mysteriously long time using the restroom just moments before.
She pulled out her phone and called the one person who needed to know.
After Violet’s enlightening visit with Eloise Prinkett, she took right at the end of Eloise�
��s street onto Ocean Street and then along Beach Avenue where she and Ralphie walked along the sand. Although it was a solid five degrees cooler along the shoreline, Violet welcomed the breezy sea air and the soothing crashing of waves. It served as a nice distraction from the goings-on as of late.
She took a seat on the blue bench next to the Cape Flower Convention Center and waited for Detective Odoom to arrive.
She felt the bench bow next to her as he sat down. “Violet,” he said, his voice low and rough. Richard reached into his pocket and pulled out a dog treat. “And for you, good boy.”
Violet’s heart warmed at his gesture. “I think I know who killed Gordon,” she said, erasing whatever feeling flooded her mind, and got to the point.
Richard’s amber eyes met hers. “Oh, you do?” he asked, his face a question mark.
Violet nodded. “Surely you don’t actually think I’m a suspect?”
Richard pressed his lips together and then spoke. “Although there is compelling evidence, I don’t think you did it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just worried you’re getting too involved, Violet. Talking with Jacqueline? Going to see Eloise?”
Violet flinched. “How did you know?”
“Small town.” Richard chuckled. “So tell me your theory.”
Violet proceeded to explain the conversation with Jacqueline, with Eloise, Gordon’s lover, and finally explaining Willa’s extended use of the restroom at roughly the same time Gordon was killed.
Richard sat in silence once she finished.
“Well?” Violet promoted. “What do you think?”
“I’ll look into it. But honestly, I think exactly what I thought before.” He turned toward Violet, his eyes once again locking on hers. “I think you’re getting too involved in this, Violet. If…let’s just say if…that incident in your shop were related to his death, who’s to say the killer won’t come after you next?”
Violet shrugged. “I don’t have anything the killer would want.”
Richard patted Ralphie once more on the head and then stood, arching his back in a stretch. Violet couldn’t help but notice how attractive he looked out of uniform—his long-sleeved t-shirt hugging his chest closely, the muscles tensing underneath. Maybe Cale was right…maybe it was time to move on. To date again. She swallowed and looked away.
“Any fingerprints found on the weapon?”
“Still waiting to hear from Carol. You just focus on your business, and let us at Cape Flower PD focus on the case,” he said firmly. His voice softened as he placed a hand on Violet’s shoulder; she felt it warm under his touch. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He bent down and rubbed Ralphie once again. “Or you, little guy.”
But Violet knew she was too invested to stay out of it now.
Violet arrived home just in time to greet Brock Bennett, Cape Flower’s sole mail deliverer, walking onto her porch with a stack of mail in hand.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Oleander,” he said, tipping his hat in her direction. “Sure is lovely weather we’re having.”
“You’re right about that,” she said. Brock Bennett was the most laidback, no-drama resident of Cape Flower, and Violet was grateful to see his smiling face, and even more grateful for a mundane, everyday interaction instead of talk about Gordon.
“Now you take care,” he said, placing a wrinkled hand on Violet’s arm. After a gentle squeeze he moved on to her reclusive next-door neighbor, Celaria Wayward, who was rumored to be a witch.
Violet straightened her flowerpots on the front porch, unlocked her door, unhooked Ralphie from his leash, then moved to the kitchen where she tossed her mail on the island. As soon as she did though, the envelope on top caught her eye.
“Gordon’s handwriting?” she asked. Ralphie must have recognized the anxiety in her voice, because he was at Violet’s side in seconds. Her shaking hands tore open the letter; she unfolded the paper and read. The date at the top read October 1—the day Gordon was killed.
Violet,
They say that money can’t buy happiness, and I find that statement to be true. Although I have more money than I could ever imagine, Michael, Jacqueline, and I have never been close and money could never make us a family full of love. That is something I wish weren’t the case, but nevertheless true.
I always respected you, Violet, and although we didn’t remain in close touch after your separation from Michael, I did and still do, indeed, think fondly of you and as a sort of daughter. That is why I need to disclose a few things to you.
First, upon my death, a fortune will come to you—one that has the potential to change your life. It’s the least I could do considering what my son put you through, and I’m hoping that you can find some joy in knowing your business can thrive.
Secondly, there comes a time in a man’s life when he feels the need to unburden himself from indiscretions. Recently, I embarked on a relationship that could threaten my good name and reputation. And although the people of Cape Flower despise me (which we both know isn’t a fabrication whatsoever), I’ve always thought…always hoped…you felt differently. Once you hear of what I’ve done, please don’t let the revelation make you feel differently about me.
Violet, I am a man of my word, and I want you to be the first to know that I’m changing my ways. Some adjustments in my estate planning will reflect my desire to do more good in this town, rather than keep my current reputation intact. The legacy I want to leave behind is one of integrity, and even if you’re the only one to know this desire, then so be it.
I know we haven’t spoken in months—something that I’m ashamed of—but I’d really like to smooth things over with you. It’s my wish that you’d be willing to meet me to discuss in more detail some of the items I alluded to above—if you’ll agree to it, that is. Violet, after the things I’ve endured these past few weeks, I have no one else in Cape Flower whom I trust.
How does a Monday lunch at Alethea’s by the Sea look for you? You know how to reach me.
Fondly,
Gordon
Violet read and re-read the letter at least three dozen times that night, so much so, that the words played in her head as she dreamt.
Chapter 11
When Violet had gotten home late yesterday afternoon after meeting Chief Richard Odoom on the beach, she’d spent the evening with Cale, relaying to him what she’d found out about Willa Page, her thrilling conversation with Jacqueline Preston, and the mysterious note from Gordon, all while making honey sugar scrubs and giving one another reinvigorating mint facials. It was just what Violet needed after the past few days she’d had.
Just what I needed, but they did no good on my face, Violet thought now as she stood in front of her bathroom mirror. Although she was happy to have had a solid six hours of sleep last night, albeit restless sleep, the two dark circles cupping her eyes screamed exhaustion. “I need some work,” she muttered, especially knowing she’d be seeing her ex-husband Michael at the funeral.
She patted some concealer under her eyes and then added a coat of black mascara to her lashes and quick brush of purple to the lids, making her typical muddy, hazel eyes take on an emerald-green hue. She brushed on some blush and then, never the one for bright lipstick, dabbed a coat of cherry lip-gloss on her lips.
After braiding dark brown strands of hair at her crown and then pinning them behind her ear, she rubbed a touch of lavender essential oil on her wrists, and then gave herself a once-over. “I guess this will have to do. How about it, Ralphie?”
Ralphie barked in approval.
“That’s my boy,” she said, rubbing Ralphie’s fur. He jumped up, putting two paws on Violet’s thighs. “Down, down, down,” she exclaimed as loose dog hair clung to her fitted black dress. She grabbed a lint roller from the linen closet and as she was about to push it down the cotton material, the doorbell rang.
She’d told Cale she’d meet him at the funeral, so it couldn’t be him. Oh no! She hoped and prayed it wasn’t Chief Richard Odoom standing on h
er porch looking all muscular and cute with a warrant poised in his hands.
Knock it off, Violet, she chastised herself.
Violet slid on her black heels and then opened the front door. Decidedly, not Richard Odoom.
She beamed and couldn’t have been more excited if Jessica Fletcher herself had come for a visit from the fictional Cabot Cove and stood on the other side.
“Violet, dah-ling!” Violet’s aunt Loretta cried, stepping through the threshold of the small sunflower color entryway of her cottage. Aunt Loretta’s bangle-covered arms enveloped Violet in a hug.
Violet pulled back. “But your cruise?”
Aunt Loretta flicked her wrist and her bracelets clinked and clanked as she did. “Cruise, shmoose,” she said, sashaying past Violet, leaving a trail of patchouli in her wake. Violet inhaled, happy to have her home, even if it meant her trip of a lifetime were cut short. “You needed me here anyway, my little flower.”
“How did you know?” Violet asked. She hadn’t called her aunt, and she was positive Cale hadn’t either.
Aunt Loretta sighed. “Well, I was sitting on deck with Rudolphio, overlooking the blues of the Baltic Sea, when I got the overwhelming sense to read.”
“Rudolphio?” Violet asked. “We’ll get to him later.” Violet shot her aunt a look. “More importantly—read? You promised you wouldn’t read cards on your trip. ‘Let life unfold as it may,’” she repeated the words her aunt Loretta spoke before leaving for the cruise.
Aunt Loretta pushed her long black braid peppered with gray on the fringe behind her shoulder. “And if I sense danger, then the cards come out.”
Violet narrowed her eyes and moved into the kitchen where she prepared two cups of coffee—Aunt Loretta’s black, and hers with extra cream and sugar. “And what did the Tarot say?”