by Jemma Bard
“I asked to show me things back home…”
“And?”
Aunt Loretta sighed. “And I drew the Three of Swords, Ten of Swords, and then”—she paused and dramatically put a hand to her forehead—“the Tower.”
Although Violet had never been one to believe in her aunt’s little Tarot hobby, she’d been around her long enough to know the Three of Swords represented rejection and betrayal, the Ten of Swords, a card of a man literally being stabbed in the back, represented an unwelcome surprise, and the Tower foretold a shocking event that disturbs peace and harmony.
“I see,” Violet said.
Aunt Loretta sipped her coffee. “So naturally I knew I was needed here at home. And the first person I saw upon arrival was Eloise Prinkett, so now I know the truth behind the cards and that I one hundred percent made the right choice.”
“I am fine, Aunt Loretta. Really. Fine. I am fine,” Violet said, unsure of who she was trying to convince more—Aunt Loretta or herself. She reached a hand across the island and squeezed Aunt Loretta’s arm. “But I am so happy you came.”
Aunt Loretta smiled. “And I drew one more card before I left, asking about you specifically, my darling niece.”
Violet pulled away. “So help me, if you read Death or gosh-forbid the Devil, then I don’t want to know.”
Aunt Loretta smiled. “The Fool.”
“Hah!” Violet huffed. “Great, just what I need.”
Aunt Loretta waved her hands. “No, no, no. That’s good. The Fool is focused on her journey, and although mountains behind her present danger, her loyal dog at her side,” she paused and looked to Ralphie who curled himself into a furry ball at Violet’s feet, “coupled with the knapsack arming her with everything she should need, symbolize support and determination to overcome unexpected obstacles.”
Violet wrapped two hands around her mug, its warmth radiating to her core. “Really?”
Aunt Loretta nodded. “I think it means Violet Oleander will solve this mystery.”
Violet arrived at the funeral with her aunt Loretta on one arm and Cale on the other. They waited in line and rehashed the past four days’ events.
“Oh, toot-sweets, did you tell Aunt Loretta about the letter from Gordon?”
“She did,” Aunt Loretta said, fiddling with her feather earring.
He smiled. “Do you think Gordon was going to tell you about the affair at that lunch he invited you to?”
Violet shook her head and tapped the side of her purse, knowing the letter was tucked safely inside. “I think it’s a strong possibility. But what about the whole I have no one left to trust line? Maybe Gordon knew he was in trouble and needed to confide in someone, and decided to confide in me?”
Aunt Loretta puckered her pink-stained lips. “That’s just speculation. We couldn’t possibly know now what Gordon had meant.”
“Yes, let’s just leave it up to paper cards to tell me the what’s what then,” Violet teased. “Anyway”—she raised an eyebrow—“my hunches prove right when it comes to matching customers with scents, and I feel like they’re right now—Gordon was going to disclose more than his affair to me.”
“Interesting,” Aunt Loretta sing-songed, and Violet could see the glint in her eye. “And you have a hunch about this Willa character too?”
Violet sighed. “I did when I first found out she was the one Gordon was seeing, but now…not so much.”
Cale pointed toward the entrance of the funeral home. “Well, now’s your chance to look into it because she’s standing right there.” He paused, his jaw dropping to the ground as the man two feet from Willa turned around. “Next to…”
Violet’s mouth went dry. “Michael and Ch—” She couldn’t finish the name.
Aunt Loretta gingerly placed a hand around Violet’s waist. “You are strong and smart and beautiful. You can do this,” she muttered, as Violet’s ex-husband moved forward to greet them at the entrance of the funeral home.
“Loretta,” Michael said, nodding. “Cale.” And then Michael’s vibrant blue eyes, eyes that Violet had fallen in love with soon after their first date at Cafe Marquis, met hers. “Violet.”
“I…um…” Get it together, Violet. “I’m sorry about Gordon,” she said. In an unexpected gesture, Michael leaned forward and gently placed two lips to her cheek. Darn it, she thought, inhaling his scent. He still smelled of his familiar mixture of clove and vanilla, a scent that made Violet’s legs feel weak as memories of their years together flooded her mind.
“Thank you, Violet,” he said. “And I’m sorry you had to find Father like that.”
She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Did you just get into town?” she asked, effectively changing the subject to something just as…well…unpleasant for her.
“Yes. The honeymoon was cut short just a few days,” he spoke matter-of-factly. “We landed last night.” He gestured toward Cheryl Hudbury, now the new Mrs. Michael Preston, who wore a black pencil skirt paired with a charcoal blouse that belled out at the sleeves. A large onyx brooch was pinned near her left shoulder and a fresh band of diamonds glistened under the lights. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a low bun and her green eyes glistened. Cheryl Hudbury was a taller, bustier version of Violet—something she always found odd.
Cheryl’s stencil-lined eyes met Violet’s and she gave her a halfhearted wave and lift to an already-faux-lifted eyebrow as if to say stay away, he’s mine now.
Truth be told, he’d been Cheryl’s the last six months of Violet’s own marriage to Michael.
Violet looked down at her outfit, suddenly feeling underdressed. “Well, okay then.”
“Now I must get back to Cheryl. I’ll be in touch about some things.”
Violet knew by some things, Michael meant the three-quarter of a million-dollar inheritance. Michael was one of Cape Flower’s three attorneys who liked nothing more than to advise anyone and everyone on…well…all matters.
Fat chance, Violet thought, getting her resolve back. She hated that Michael still made her swoon. “That no-good, cheating, lying—”
“Toad,” Aunt Loretta finished, slipping her arm through the crook of Violet’s elbow. “Let’s pay our respects.”
The memorial service lasted for less than a half hour, and Violet was shocked to see most of Cape Flower’s residents in attendance. That was the thing about a village like Cape Flower: it was small, but in times of need, people came together.
After the service, the few attendees congregated in an adjoining parlor for pastries and coffee.
“You know?” Cale spoke, pouring himself a cup of coffee from a silver carafe. “We haven’t revisited your suspect list.”
“You’re right.” Violet tilted her chin in the air. “After our chat yesterday, I think we can cross Jacqueline off the list. Nate and Sylvia still have potential. There’s the matter of the whole blackmail thing. And—”
“How can that woman show her face here?” Jacqueline slurred, sidling up to Violet. She gestured toward Willa Page who stood alone in the corner of the room. By the smell emanating from Jacqueline’s cup, she obviously added something to her coffee to make it stronger, and it wasn’t cream and sugar.
“Jacqueline?” Violet whispered, gently grasping her arm. Apparently, Jacqueline now knew who Gordon was seeing. “Why don’t we take a walk outside, hmm?”
“Ha!” Jacqueline spat, pulling her arm away. She pointed an index finger at Willa. “You were having an affair with my husband, you killed him once he broke it off, and now you have the audacity to come to his funeral to gloat in front of his family and closest friends.”
Closest friends was a bit of a stretch, but Violet wasn’t about to correct her ex-mother-in-law in the state she was in.
At this point all eyes were on Jacqueline and the scene she was making. Michael moved to his mother’s side. “Now, Mother. Let’s just calm down.”
“Calm down?” she asked and then her voice rose as she asked again, “Calm down?”
/> Jacqueline stumbled her way across the reception room and stopped so her face was just inches from Willa. Willa’s lips trembled and a tear slid down her cheek. “I loved him too,” Willa admitted.
Oohs and ahhhs escaped from the growing crowd.
“Mother, no!” Michael shouted just as Jacqueline raised her arm, in position to slap.
“Stop!” a loud voice called from the doorway. Chief Richard Odoom moved toward the commotion. “Willa Page?” he spoke with authority. Jacqueline stepped away, body shaking, and collapsed in Michael’s arms.
Willa sniffed back tears and spoke. “Yes.”
“Please come with me, ma’am.”
“What’s this about?” she asked.
“I’d rather do this outside, so please come with me, Ms. Page,” Richard said firmly.
Willa planted her five-inch heels harder into the carpet. “Whatever you think I did, I didn’t. I would never, ever harm Gordon in any way,” she cried. “I loved him.”
“Well”—Richard tilted his head to the side—“the fingerprints on the murder weapon say otherwise.”
“Wha!” Willa cried, her eyes shooting to Violet’s. “I don’t even know what the weapon was!”
Richard shook his head. “The soap slicer.”
Willa pointed at Violet. “I was just snooping, I didn’t use it to…”
Violet flinched. Wouldn’t my fingerprints be on it too? She sent a confused look to Cale and then it dawned on her. She had been working with lye, a highly corrosive agent, so she’d had on her gloves.
Willa dropped her head to her chest. “I didn’t kill him. I swear!” Her red-rimmed eyes met Violet. “Tell them, Violet,” she pleaded. “You and I found his body together.”
Richard escorted Willa across the room while reciting her Miranda rights.
But as Willa passed by, the utter confusion on her face coupled with the tears in her eyes, didn’t sit well with Violet.
In fact, even with motive, means, and prints on the murder weapon, she wasn’t so sure Willa Page was the one responsible for Gordon’s death at all.
Chapter 12
After the funeral, Sylvia invited everyone to Déjà Brew for an after-funeral reception, reception.
“Coffee on the house!” she exclaimed. Most everyone from the memorial service came, with the exception of Gordon’s immediate family.
Once everyone was served, for whatever reason, Eloise Prinkett felt the need to address the crowd. She stood in the center of the cafe, coffee mug in hand. “As you all know, I’ve lived in Cape Flower my entire life, and I just want to say how honored it is to be part of this community. I know Gordon may not have been a Cape Flower favorite, as he’d rubbed a number of us the wrong way, but I’m sure it meant a lot to the family for us all to rally together in support of a fellow villager. Although a curmudgeon, let’s raise our mugs to Gordon!”
“To Gordon!”
Once the crowd settled down from the toast, Cale spoke. “What a sweet little speech, Eloise.”
“Thank you, dear.” Eloise pushed up her glasses and tisked, everyone’s attention still on her. “It’s a shame, though. An outsider shows up to our town and commits murder.”
“Better than a local,” Sylvia spoke.
A shiver traveled down Violet’s spine at her words. Better than a local. Violet still wasn’t convinced a local didn’t commit the murder though.
She couldn’t hold her thoughts back. “Something just doesn’t feel right, Aunt Loretta.” She took off her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair.
“Oh, Violet!” Sylvia said with a chuckle, suddenly appearing behind her. A small crowd gathered around Violet’s table where she sat with Cale, Aunt Loretta, and Roberto who had met them after the funeral. “I think you need to let this go,” Sylvia said. “Of course the right person is behind bars.”
“I don’t know.” Violet tucked the braid that had become loose back in place. “I don’t know. At the funeral…and when Chief Odoom escorted her out…she was so insistent on her innocence.”
“Aren’t most criminals?” Nate Matthews chimed in.
Violet supposed he was right. “And what about my letter…” Violet paused, realizing her mistake as soon as it came out of her mouth.
“What’s that?” asked Winifred Owens. “A letter?”
All eyes peered at Violet. “Oh…” She flicked her hand through the air. “Oh…nothing…I’m just not convinced, that’s all.”
Eloise huffed. “Well, I like to believe they have the right person, because if not then there’s still a murderer on the loose.”
Aunt Loretta patted Violet’s shoulder and sent her a small smile. She flipped the end of her scarf over her shoulder and asked, “Should I get out my cards?”
“No, Aunt Loretta,” Violet said. But maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea. Violet just couldn’t shake her hunch.
Why did everyone feel so certain it was over except her?
Around seven that night, Violet realized she hadn’t been in her shop since Friday, and she needed to prepare for tomorrow’s Monday-morning rush.
“Go for a walk, boy?” she asked Ralphie. He responded with a yip and pushed the leash that hung next to the front door with the tip of his nose.
Violet laughed. “I take that as a yes.”
The cool early October air kissed Violet’s cheeks as she stepped outside. She double-checked that she’d locked her cottage door and then walked to Bubbles Boutique. Last week she’d sold out of her popular homemade pumpkin foot scrub, so there was no better time than now, in the throes of autumn with its leaf-covered ground, to make a fresh batch.
She paused after walking down Carpenter Alley as she and Ralphie came upon the back entrance. The last time she’d been back there was when she’d found Gordon’s body. She pushed the image from her mind and stepped inside. Ralphie immediately ran to his bed behind the checkout counter while Violet grabbed the ingredients from the back room she’d need for the scrub: pumpkin puree, yogurt, olive oil, a touch of honey, and sugar.
Two hours and two dozen jars of scrub later, Violet placed her Bubbles Boutique labels on the glass jars and then put them on display in the front window. Just as she settled the last jar in place, a text message with an attached picture flashed across the screen.
Cale: Check this out…I’m actually doing it!!!
Violet literally laughed out loud at the photograph and then the string of emojis that followed it. In the photograph, Cale stood outside INKed with a tattoo of what appeared to be words going down the back of his forearm.
Violet: Wow! Did it hurt?
Cale: It’s just the temporary drawing to see if I’ll like it. Get the real one on Wednesday!
Violet: At Bubbles if you wanna stop in.
Cale: Date night ;)
Violet rolled her eyes at her best friend and tucked the phone in her back pocket. She looked over her new seasonal foot scrub display once more, sighed a satisfied sigh, and then pulled out her phone to get a better look at Cale’s faux-for-now tattoo. She couldn’t believe he was actually going through with it.
Violet put her thumb and index finger on the screen and zoomed in on the two words down his arm that read Carpe Diem.
How very Cale, she thought to herself. But something strange gnawed at her about the tattoo. She zoomed in even more, looking at the cursive writing with its long strokes and swooping letters when…
“No!” she gasped at the words, knowing she’d seen that exact font somewhere before. Violet threw a hand over her mouth. “It can’t be!” she exclaimed, thinking back to the perfect, swooping handwriting on the letter Jacqueline received—the blackmail letter.
The phone shook in Violet’s hands as she found Chief Richard Odoom’s name. Just as her finger hovered over the call button, she heard a low, gruff voice from behind.
“Put the phone down, Violet,” Nate Matthews growled. And on his words, Ralphie jumped out of his bed and barked wildly.
“No!” Violet yell
ed as Nate pulled his foot back and kicked him in the side. Ralphie slid across the wood floor and hit the soap wall. “Here boy!” Violet called, her voice trembling, and Ralphie whined while limping to her side.
She rubbed the sensitive spot on Ralphie’s side where Nate’s foot had met him, and then stood.
“And don’t even think about running,” Nate said, gesturing to his chest.
Violet backed away, knocking her fresh display to the floor as jars of pumpkin scrub shattered below. She dropped the phone to the ground and put two hands up at the sight of the gun Nate pulled from his jacket.
“It was you who did it, wasn’t it?”
Nate’s cold gray eyes stared at hers. “It was me who did what?” He tilted his head to the side. “Kill Gordon or break into your shop?”
Violet swallowed while Ralphie whined at her side, the two crimes were connected just like she thought. “You did both,” she said matter-of-factly.
Nate tapped his head. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?”
Violet swallowed. She needed to buy some time to figure out a way to get out of this situation. Maybe if she stalled him long enough someone would walk by and see them in the window. That was unlikely. It was going on ten at night, and all the other shops were locked up and dark for the evening. The only shop open this late in the off season was INKed.
“How did this happen, Nate? You’re not a killer,” she said, hoping Gordon’s death was an accident and he’d let her go.
“Not usually…no.” Nate nodded. “I did a supply run to Philadelphia a few months ago and saw dirtbag Gordon Preston out with that Willa Page woman.” Nate’s voice rose. “Gordon had weaseled rent money out of me for the past four years, so when I saw them embrace, I knew I had a way of getting my money back…and then some.”
“So you blackmailed Gordon?”
Nate smiled. “I did. But that only lasted a few weeks. Last week, Gordon broke it off with Willa. He decided he didn’t care who knew about his affair and refused to give me any more money in exchange for my knowledge. Changing his ways or some crap…”