by Gina LaManna
Allie’s eyes followed my pointed finger, landing on the empty space on the wall where the shoes no longer sat.
“Yeah, the ones you were wearing,” she said. “I remember.”
“Yes! Exactly.” I felt myself visibly brighten. Maybe my mother didn’t need anything but a dinky old calculator; maybe it was better to have humans who could remember things. Particularly budding mystery novelists on the lookout for clues. “This is very important: I need to know who bought them and when.”
“That’s easy,” she said, grinning at my huge sigh of relief. Which all went away at her next statement. “I did.”
“You did what?”
“I bought them,” Allie said. “I saw them on your feet and they made your ankles look so rad. I mean, all slim and bony and really cute.”
“Sorry, what?” I massaged my forehead as I tried to understand what this meant for me, and then for the investigation. “You bought the powder blue heels that I selected yesterday?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did,” she said. “I bought them the second after you popped them off your feet. I thought it was sort of cool how you used them for a weapon. A little James Bond-ish, don’t you think? But in your case Jenna Bond because obviously James wouldn’t wear heels.”
“Obviously,” I agreed wryly. “Do you know where those shoes might be now?”
“Er—” She raised a finger, pressed it to her lips. “You know, that’s actually a good question. I realized when I got home last night that I didn’t have them with me.”
“Did you leave them here?”
“No,” she said, “I must not have. I mean, you’re welcome to look around, but I don’t see them anywhere. I locked up yesterday evening, and you guys opened this morning, so if they were here last night, they should still be here this morning.”
“Unless someone stole them,” my mother said, chiming in from across the room. Her face went pale. “What if someone broke in here last night?”
“Uh, you guys are forgetting one important fact,” I said, raising a hand to stall the conversation. When I had the attention of both ladies, I raised my eyebrows. “Grant Mark was murdered yesterday afternoon. Which means the shoes must have been taken some time between my departure from the store and Grant’s murder.”
“Why?” Allie frowned. “I mean, how do you know that? It’s not like the murderer is broadcasting the fact they were walking around in stolen shoes.”
“Actually,” I said, biting my lip as I glanced at her. “She was.”
“It was a she?”
“I have to imagine so,” I said. “Because the weapon that killed Grant Mark was one of those very shoes.”
“So, it really wasn’t an explosion?” Allie looked visibly disappointed. “Huh. I guess I did let my imagination get the best of me. Well, that makes things easier.”
“Easier?”
“Yeah,” she said with a grin. “It’s a classic twist on Cinderella. Find the missing shoe, and you’ve found your murderer.”
I blinked, considering this, and then leaned across the counter and pulled Allie into a hug. I dusted a huge fat kiss on her cheek, feeling a flutter of excitement unlike anything I’d experienced since arriving in Blueberry Lake.
“That’s brilliant, Allie,” I told her, clapping my hands. “I knew you’d be on my side. Except...”
“Aw, no,” she groaned. “Don’t make this more difficult.”
“How do we go about finding a missing shoe?”
“Like Prince Charming! Go around asking,” she said. “There’s not that many people in a town this size.”
“Right, but nobody’s going to fess up to having the murder weapon’s identical twin,” I said, sinking back into despair. “Hold on—let’s get back to the last moment the shoe was in your sight.”
“Sure. After you wielded the heel like a light saber, I quick bought the shoes, put the cash in the register, and packed them up in a bag. I set the bag behind the counter like we’re allowed to do,” Allie said with a quick glance at my mother, “and then I went back to work. I still have the receipt in my pocket.”
“Did you see anyone hanging around the register?”
“Well, there was a huge influx of customers right after you left,” Allie said to me. “The entire bridal party came in, and of course there were some of the regular Saturday shoppers. I stashed a few bags behind the counter for the customers as they shopped. Do you think it’s possible someone picked up the wrong bag on accident?”
“I think that’s entirely possible,” I said, grasping at the faint thread of hope. “And I think if we find out who got the bag, we find our murderer. Allie, let me buy you a coffee. I’m going to need a list of everyone you can remember who stepped foot in the store yesterday.”
“Ooh, a suspect list,” Allie said. “And a coffee from Blueberry Jam? Count me in.”
Chapter 6
“Spring is coming,” June said the second Allie and I reached the front counter at the local café. “Do you smell that?”
“Spring?” I wrinkled my nose. “It looks like wet slush out there to me. Feels like it, too.”
June’s face crumpled into a smile. “Just a few weeks and the snow will be gone. It’ll be swimsuit weather by May this year—mark my words.”
I glanced at the barely-above-freezing outdoors behind me. “Sure, June. Whatever you say.”
She gave a tinkling laugh. “Are you planning to revive your grandmother’s garden shop?”
“I’m more about shoe shopping. You know, things that don’t require care. I have a black thumb,” I said with a frustrated bob of my shoulders. “But yes, May and I are planning to have someone come out to help us return Green’s to its former glory.”
“You’re a McGovern!” June gave a knowing cluck. “I bet you just might find yourself surprised if you give it a try.”
“I tried keeping a lucky bamboo alive in my apartment in California,” I said, leaning on the counter and giving a scan over the fresh-baked goods. As much as I loved discussing my lack of talent for keeping plants alive, my stomach was grumbling. “How about a blueberry muffin and some cornbread pancakes?”
If June was surprised by the size of my order, she didn’t give any indication of it. “You should be starting your vegetable seeds soon, I’d think,” she said. “I’m urging you to give it a try. A little flop with lucky bamboo doesn’t mean all that much. What can I get you to drink? That fancy latte machine isn’t coming until next week.”
“Then I’ll take a black coffee for today,” I said. “Though I am determined not to be happy about it.”
June chortled again as she rang me up. “Is that all?”
“For me, but add whatever Allie wants to my tab,” I said, moving aside so Allie could order. “We’re together.”
“Lemon rosemary scone with coffee for here, and a jasmine tea to go?” June asked before Allie could speak.
Allie gave a single nod, and June plunked away on the keys.
“I guess you’re a regular here,” I said to Allie. “I didn’t see lemon rosemary on the menu.”
Allie just blinked. “Everyone’s a regular at June’s.”
June reached across the counter and pinched Allie’s cheek. “I could just eat you up, doll. Your order will be right out, girls. Oh, and Allie, I just love those pants.”
As I studied Allie’s quirky outfit, I couldn’t help but think Blueberry Lake had an entirely different style palate than Hollywood.
I was beginning to doubt my skills as a stylist here and began to think harder about getting Gran’s shop up and running again. I had money for a few months of living expenses, but come the end of summer, I would need to find a steady stream of income. Otherwise, I’d be unable to afford even a single earring, let alone that Briana Bartone bracelet that would be going on sale this fall.
Allie and I grabbed a table in a bright, sundrenched corner. We each took a side of the booth and perched on worn, yellow cushions with a lemon pattern printed on them
. A young server came by with two mugs, one of them slightly chipped, and a pot of coffee. He filled up both our cups and then vanished behind the counter, leaving the two of us alone to watch the steam rise and curl from our beverages as soft snowflakes began to drop outside of the window.
“Spring, huh?” I commented, pulling the chipped mug close to me. “I think June might be wrong this year.”
“Oh, June’s never wrong,” Allie said happily. “Not about the weather, at least.”
I glanced down at my chipped little mug and felt a burst of kinship with it. Just a little bit broken, but still functional. I figured there was a lesson in there for me somewhere, but the second I sipped the coffee, all deep thoughts left my skull and drifted away in swirls like the fat flakes falling outside. I was left with the buttery warm taste of coffee, the chaotic, quiet cozy of the café, and the sight of someone’s gorgeous new boots stomping through the door.
I was squinting at the boots on a leggy female, struggling to read the label, when Allie waved a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Jenna! Did you hear me? I said you shouldn’t doubt June’s ability to predict the weather. It’s quite weird—she can sense spring better than most groundhogs.”
“I’m pretty sure groundhogs are a myth,” I told Allie. “I mean, the fact that their shadow can predict spring, and all of that.”
“Oh, you’re one of those.” She gave me a knowing nod. “I bet you don’t believe in unicorns, either.”
“Um...”
Allie picked up her own mug and shrugged. “It’s fine. Your loss.”
“Right. Well, maybe we can start discussing business,” I said. “Obviously, I need to clear my name—and the best way to do that is to give Cooper a list of suspects.”
“You’re on a first name basis with Chief Dear, huh?” She raised her eyebrows. “That was fast.”
“Excuse me?”
“I put my money on Matt. You know, forced proximity and all that.” She gave me a dumbfounded stare. “Seriously, read a book or something. You and Matt are both beautiful people, you live next door to one another—it’s only a matter of time before things start heating up between the two of you.”
“Exactly what sort of things are you talking about?” I asked. “I have no plans to—”
“Oh, are you discussing the pool?” June asked, carrying three plates of food between two hands. She deposited them gently on the table. “I put my money on the chief. I’m leaning more toward the whole enemies-to-lovers thing they have going on.”
“See? June reads books,” Allie said, as if that explained everything.
“I’m more concerned about the whole money and pool aspect of this thing,” I said. “Is there a bet going around?”
“I wouldn’t call it a bet,” June said. “More like gentle encouragement for you, dear. We’ve all been wanting a nice woman to come along for both Matt and Cooper. And now you’re here, and you’re already involved with both—but you’re only one woman. We’re very excited about the whole thing. I hope you choose quickly.”
“Do—er, the men know about this?”
“Who?” June asked. “Oh, the boys—Matt and Cooper. Who knows? Possibly. But men are oblivious. My husband wouldn’t have noticed I got a haircut if I dangled it in front of his face. Love him to death and God rest his soul, but he had other talents that didn’t include perceptiveness.”
“How about we leave my love life alone?” I volunteered the suggestion, but both Allie and June gave me blank stares as if I’d suggested we launch my car to Mars. “Yeah, all right—never mind. You both should know, though, that saving your money is best. I’m not looking to date.”
“Sure.” June patted my head sympathetically. “And spring isn’t right around the corner.”
I glanced at the quickly accelerating snow outside and thought that nothing looked further from the truth. I was willing to bet money I could safely live in an igloo for the next six months.
After June left us alone with our food, Allie and I took a moment to turn off any ladylike manners and completely dive into the spread before us. I made it halfway through the muffin and was elbow deep into the short stack of cornbread pancakes before I surfaced for air.
“She’s right, you know,” I said, taking a moment to swallow my food and wash it down with freshly poured hot coffee. “I’m going to gain fifty pounds on June’s food alone.”
Allie shrugged, her lemon rosemary scone already gone. I noticed she hadn’t offered to share, though I’d invited her to take a pancake for herself.
“If you gain a few pounds, we can share clothes,” she offered. “I’ve got a little more meat on my bones than you do.”
“Speaking of clothes,” I said. “Let’s discuss who you saw at my mother’s shop yesterday. Starting from the time I left until late afternoon.”
Allie sunk into thought. “Well, on one hand it’s going to be hard because the store was packed. I mean, Friday afternoon—we get a lot of women blowing off work to go look around before they pick up the kids from school. A few minutes to themselves, you know?”
“Are any of them regulars?”
“Sure,” she said. Then she hollered over my shoulder. “Mrs. Beasley, we need your help!”
“Mrs. Beasley?” I glanced behind me with horror as the coffee shop froze. It seemed I couldn’t get away from causing a scene even when I was trying my best for discretion. “Oh, Allie—we don’t need to break up their meeting.”
“It’s just knitting club,” Allie said, and then raised her voice for the whole shop to hear. “Mrs. Beasley, would you rather discuss murder suspects or knitting club?”
“Go on over.” Angela Dewey, my tattletale neighbor, flicked her wrist at her friend. She spoke rather loudly (probably a result of the annoying hum coming from her hearing aids that was audible from across the room) and gave a hungry look in our direction. “Get the scoop, Marge, and then report back.”
Marge Beasley stood and grabbed her walker. It took approximately seven minutes (during which I finished the rest of my muffin and a partial pancake) for her to arrive and perch on the chair at the end of our table. “How can I help you girls?”
“We’re trying to put together a list of people who might have killed Grant Mark,” Allie explained. “We think it’s someone who was in Mrs. McGovern’s shop between—oh, nine in the morning and one thirty in the afternoon.”
“That’s easy,” Mrs. Beasley said. “I watched the comings and goings all day and my memory is the best in the business.”
I wasn’t sure what business she meant, unless she was discussing the rabid gossip community of Blueberry Lake, but I dug deep into my purse and pulled out a bejeweled Kate Spade pen and matching notebook. “Okay, who did you see enter the shop?”
“You have your regulars,” Mrs. Beasley said. “Mary, Jane, Susan, and Jennifer. They’re there every week on the lunch hour. The first three are married, but Jennifer is divorced and on the prowl. She was wearing leopard print leggings and looking desperate, poor thing. I think her eggs are shriveling up.”
Allie nodded sympathetically. “She was at the shop to flirt with Bob Hannigan.”
“Bob has no teeth,” Marge Beasley said. “Even I wouldn’t date Bob.”
“Um, okay,” I said, urging things along. “Who else?”
“Well, the entire bridal party was there,” Allie offered. “They came in just after you left. Your mother wasn’t around—she came down to June’s on her lunch break while I held down the store. It was crazy.”
“There were...” Mrs. Beasley counted on her wrinkled fingers. “At least eleven of them.”
“Eleven people,” I said. “And I bet a good chunk of them knew Grant.”
“I probably should have said the bridal thing first, huh?” Mrs. Beasley said. “On account of it’s probably not one of the locals. I’ll bet whoever killed him was from the wedding party and knew him well.”
“We just need to find out who disliked Grant,” Allie said. “We
can match it up with a motive for murder, and opportunity, and voila—you’re a free woman, Jenna McGovern.”
“Great. Back to the bridal party,” I said. “Are you familiar with the names of the ladies?”
Mrs. Beasley and Allie exchanged looks as if that were the most useless question they’d ever heard.
“Of course,” Allie said. “We’ll start from the top. Lana Duvet is the bride. She’s from Blueberry Lake and lives in that rich-looking white house at the end of Ivy Road.”
“I know her,” I said grimly, thinking of the week my mother had sent me to summer camp. “Unfortunately.”
“Then, there’s her sister and mother—Eliza and Bridget Duvet, respectively,” Mrs. Beasley said. “They were both there. Bridget Duvet divorced William Duvet—Will is married to a new woman, Brenda, but she wasn’t there.”
I made notes on my makeshift family tree. “I’m looking just at the people who were there. It had to be someone at the shop to have access to the shoes.”
“You know, Becky was there too. She packed a few bags behind the counter. She peeped into all of them when she left though, so she couldn’t have taken the wrong one by mistake. I’ll bet it was her. Maybe Lana asked her to off Grant. Everyone knew Lana didn’t want him in her wedding.”
“Really?” I asked. “Why not? I mean, I have my guesses because of his personality, but still.”
“Lana didn’t think Grant was a good influence on her husband,” Allie said. “I heard them talking about it yesterday. Patty Blarney had been drinking at the lunch hour, and her lips were flapping.”
“Who’s Patty?”
“She’s...er,” Allie stilled. “Well, she dated Grant for a short while.”
“Was Grant from the area?”
“He was from the next town over,” Mrs. Beasley said. “He lived on Shepard Way over in Butternut Bay. But the ladies from knitting club say he worked his way through Butternut Bay, so he had to come sow his seeds over in this direction, if you know what I mean.”