by Gina LaManna
“Ew,” I said. “Too much information.”
“Birds and the bees,” Mrs. Beasley said. “If you ask me, it was Patty. I think Grant dumped her. Patty likes her cocktails, too. Maybe she had a little much to drink and got carried away.”
“No,” Allie said, shaking her head. “That’s not what I heard. Yesterday, one of them was saying how Grant wouldn’t stop following Patty around even after she broke things off.”
“My, oh my,” I said. “There are a lot of motives in this bridal party.”
“I think you need to get the inside scoop,” Allie said. “Go undercover. You can slip in unnoticed to the bridal shower happening tonight. They were talking about it all day yesterday—I guess the caterer cancelled after the dead body was found. Huge big uproar.”
“Yeah, that’d be a great idea,” I said with a dry laugh, “if it weren’t impossible. I’m new around here, and I have no way of getting into that party without seeming suspicious.”
“Not unless you start thinking outside the box,” Mrs. Beasley said. “I might just have an idea for you.”
“I think I’m good on ideas,” I said. “They haven’t done very well for me lately.”
“Well, mine’s a real doozy. Do you have one of them cell phones?”
I pulled out the phone and handed it over. “What are you doing, Mrs. Beasley?”
She held up a finger for me to wait as she dialed a number by heart in a painfully slow fashion. Then she raised it to her ear and cleared her throat, waiting as the phone rang. “Mrs. Duvet, this is Mrs. Beasley.”
I blanched at the thought of my number appearing on the caller ID of the bride’s mother. If Chief Dear found out about this, I’d be in deep trouble.
“Good morning, ladies.”
Speak of the devil, I thought, as a low, rumbling voice slid across the table. I looked up to find Cooper Dear standing over the table.
He smiled down at me. “Enjoying breakfast?”
Attempting to split my listening between Mrs. Beasley’s conversation and the chief was a daunting task that didn’t end well. I mumbled something that sounded like hewp and realized I was a failure at multitasking unless the tasks were applying makeup and driving down the 405 at eighty miles an hour.
“Excuse me?” Concern pinched Cooper’s brow, as if he suspected I might be suffering a stroke. “Was that English?”
“I meant—ah, we’re just enjoying breakfast at June’s,” I said. “Snowy day out there, huh? Apparently spring is around the corner.”
Cooper didn’t look impressed with my small talk. “I’d like to speak with you both,” he said, nodding to Allie and me. “I swung by the store this morning, and your mother—” he gave me a pointed glance—“very happily directed me here.”
“Dang,” Allie said. “I knew I should have put my money on the cop.”
Chief Dear looked mildly concerned, so I hurried to cover up the awkward silence with a cough. It started as a fake cough, then turned into a real live choking hazard that had my eyes watering until Cooper thumped me on the back.
“I’m done now,” Mrs. Beasley declared. “How do you hang up this dratted thing?”
She handed me the phone mid-call, and I quickly hung up and pocketed it before Cooper could glimpse the number. “Er—Chief, we’re just finishing up our meal. Maybe we can meet you outside in a second?”
Cooper looked outside at the pelting snow. “I’ll see you at the front door.”
Mrs. Beasley blatantly admired Cooper’s backside as the chief walked to the counter and ordered a piping hot coffee from June. “I wouldn’t blame you if you chose the chief,” she said, turning back to face me. “By the way, that was Lana’s mother on the phone.”
“I gathered as much,” I said dryly. “What were you doing calling her?”
“Well, you wanted an invite to the bachelorette party, didn’t you?” she asked. “You’re too new to secure an invitation for yourself, so I did it for you.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “How’d you secure me an invitation?”
She flashed her pearly whites. “Allie just said they’re down a caterer. So, I volunteered your cousin for the job. You can go along as her server.”
“What?!” I visibly blanched. “I haven’t asked May if she’s free! What if she’s busy? What if—”
“Tell May I’m asking nicely,” Mrs. Beasley said. “Plus, the Duvets have offered to pay a sizeable amount.” Mrs. Beasley nabbed the bejeweled pen from my hand, jotted down some numbers on a napkin and slid it across to me. “Have her look at that before she turns down the job.”
“Well, even I can bake a cake for that much.” I eyed the number on the napkin. “That sort of pay would hold me off for a few months. I could redo the greenhouse and get those new yoga pants I’ve been eyeing from that fancy new line at Macy’s.”
“It’s up for grabs—if you can convince May, the job is yours.” Mrs. Beasley stood, leaned on her walker, and began toddling away. “Now go cuddle that cop of yours before I get to him first.”
Chapter 7
As it turned out, Cooper wasn’t in a cuddly mood.
Then again, neither was I.
After leaving a hefty tip and polishing off the last of my pancakes, June shipped us out the front door with a fresh cup of coffee for the road for me, and a piping hot jasmine tea for Allie. Cooper, Allie, and I all huddled for warmth around our individual beverages as the snowstorm picked up the pace.
“You must’ve found Grant’s body perfectly preserved if he was killed outside,” Allie chirped, breaking the silence as we walked. “I mean, with freezing temps, all the evidence must’ve been intact.”
Cooper gave her on odd look. From behind Allie, all I could do was shrug my shoulders. The interestingly dressed bookworm was a mystery to all of us.
“I’m actually here to ask you a few questions,” Cooper said to Allie. “I would prefer to do it someplace warm, but—”
“We’re fine,” Allie interrupted. “But how about we walk and talk because my break is going to be over when we get back to the thrift store, and Bea doesn’t appreciate when I sit around talking instead of working.”
Cooper cleared his throat. “I’m looking for the owner of a pair of shoes.”
“They’re not just shoes,” I interrupted. “They’re gorgeous, powder-blue vintage heels.”
“Right.” Cooper gave me a glance. “What she said.”
“They’re mine,” Allie said. “I mean, I bought them. Unfortunately, I don’t still have them.”
Cooper gave her a quizzical stare. “I’m going to need you to expand on that.”
So, Allie chattered the rest of the way back to the store—a walk that should have only taken four minutes but took thirteen—thanks to the near white-out blizzard that snuck up and surprised Blueberry Lake.
My legs were exhausted from trudging through snow by the time we reached the store, but I said a quick praise be to the shoe gods for May’s foresight to give me a pair of ugly, warm Eskimo boots. My socks were somehow still dry, a feat that spared me from intense pain as I began to thaw.
We stepped inside Something Old as Allie finished up her story. She explained how someone had probably mixed up her bag with theirs or, alternatively, stolen it to frame me. She launched into several tangents about the suspects she was considering in her amateur sleuthing, but Cooper didn’t seem amused.
“Thank you for that, ah—thorough assessment,” Cooper said, trying to ease himself away from Allie. “I think I have all the information I need.”
I flexed my fingers until they regained sensation in a very painful way. Little pricks poked every inch of my hands until I was convinced they were dying, one knuckle at a time.
“Is this normal?” I held up my hands. “I can’t feel them.”
Cooper leaned closer and examined my mittens. They were cute, knitted things I’d gotten from a stoner on Venice Beach in California. I’d foregone the thick puffballs May had given me becau
se they just didn’t look good—and the dexterity in them was horrible.
“There are holes in here,” he said. “These gloves are just for decoration.”
“They’re also for warmth,” I said. “Why else would they be called mittens?”
“These are not mittens. These are bits of string sort of looped together.”
“It’s called knitting, Cooper,” I said. “Go ask Mrs. Beasley about it.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Beasley would recommend wearing these during the winter.”
I huffed my disagreement and tucked the gloves behind my back. “So, did you get what you needed?”
Cooper glanced around the store, which was delightfully busy thanks to a new shipment of supplies. My mother had already gotten Allie started unpacking some oddly shaped mannequins near the back of the store while a few ladies perused a stack of chunky sweaters along one wall.
When the chief spotted Allie in the distance, he lowered his voice. “Essentially, she thinks half the town could have committed murder.”
“Yeah, but did you notice who was absent from the list?” I raised a hand, made a pointer finger, and gestured to my head. “Me. My name wasn’t on the list. I was already gone by the time the shoes were taken. You have a witness saying she saw the shoes after I left the store. I didn’t come back, and both Mrs. Beasley and Allie can vouch for that—so how could I have gotten ahold of the murder weapon?”
“Fine.”
“Fine?” I became a little screechy. “What does fine mean?”
He scratched at his cheek. “I don’t need to discuss this with you any longer.”
“Come on, I’m not a suspect anymore.” When he didn’t answer and merely squinted at me, I got suspicious. “Wait a second—you still don’t think this clears my name? How is that possible?”
Cooper shifted his weight from one foot to the next, then took a step backward. “There are other possibilities to consider.”
I took a step closer. “Give me an example.”
We were very close now—so close I could smell the light scent of our coffees swirling up in a mixture underneath my nose. I caught a whiff of his cologne, as well, and I hated to admit it sent a batch of warm tingles through my body. He smelled like pine, like the hearth of a home and a crackling fire, and freshly chopped wood. I could sniff him all day, but since that would be considered awkward, I refrained.
Cooper had fallen under a similar spell. His head jerked up as I snapped to reality and stepped away. He glanced around, as if surprised to find other people still in the store.
“An example,” I prompted. “Theoretically, how could I have gotten the shoes?”
“I don’t have to discuss this with you.”
“You don’t have to, but you’re being ridiculous,” I told him, which earned me a small smile from Cooper. “If you’re so convinced that you’re right, then help me to understand why I’m still a suspect. You heard Allie—I’m the red herring.”
“This isn’t a book, Jenna. This is real life,” he said. “Blueberry Lake is nothing like Hollywood—understand?”
His words stung. I hated that they got to me, but it was true. I was new here, and I didn’t belong. It’s not like I had a ton of friends around these parts who knew and trusted me, believed in the goodness of my heart, and were willing to vouch for me.
Sure, my mom and May defended me, but they were family. That was pretty much a requirement. Allie might believe I wasn’t guilty, but she had a puzzle for pants and a well-known imagination, so there was that. Maybe June or Mrs. Beasley had converted to my side, but that was just because they were more interested in my love life than my criminal record.
Cooper blurted out his next question. “Are you coming to bingo tomorrow night?”
I blinked, caught off-guard. “How does that have to do with my innocence or guilt?”
“It doesn’t. It’s just a question.”
“You’re trying to distract me,” I said. “I’m still waiting to hear how you can possibly believe I got past Mrs. Beasley’s hawk-eyed stare back into the shop, stole the shoes, killed Grant, and then made it home in time for you to wake me up from a nap.”
Cooper watched me for a long moment, and then he leaned forward and surprised me with a smile. “I’ll tell you tomorrow night. See you, Jenna.”
He turned and, without another word, disappeared out the door. I moved to the window to watch him walk away, but I lost sight of him after a few seconds. The last thing I saw was him hunching into his coat against the wind as he disappeared into the blizzard.
“Did anyone else just hear that?” I turned to face the rest of the shop and scanned the thin crowd. Slowly, my mother, Allie, and the three ladies pretending to be invested in sweaters all raised their hands to acknowledge their eavesdropping ways. “Good. Then maybe you can tell me if that was him asking me out on a date?”
My mother’s shining face said it all. “Oh, darling. I’m so happy for you!”
“That wasn’t a clever way to ask a woman out,” one of the ladies said, holding a sweater in front of her body. “A man’s gotta take control and make it clear he’s interested.”
“Oh, he’s interested,” Allie said from behind the counter. “You should’ve felt the heat radiating off the two of them on the walk over. I stood between them and didn’t need a jacket. They were melting snow as it came down. It was like a breath of Hawaii, an afternoon in Greece, a—”
“Enough with the analogies,” I said. “There wasn’t that much heat. In fact, there wasn’t any heat at all, thanks to my stupid knitted mittens that are adorably cute and hopelessly useless.”
My mother took one look at my pout and shook her finger at me. “Turn that frown upside down, Jenna McGovern. Tomorrow you have your first date with the chief of police.”
“I don’t know if that qualifies as a date,” sweater-lady argued lightly. “If I were you, darlin’, I’d make him ask me out right and proper. I want flowers and a car door opened for me.”
“I suppose it’s a good sign either way,” I mused. “I mean, if he really thought I killed Grant, he probably wouldn’t want to sit next to me at bingo.”
Sweater-lady clucked her tongue. “Well, I didn’t know you were his suspect. That changes everything! It’s forbidden love! The cop drawn to a killer.”
“Hold your horses—I’m not a killer,” I said. “That’s what I’m trying to prove.”
“Girlfriend, I got your back,” Allie said. “I told him you were the red herring, and then I gave him a list of a zillion other suspects that are way better than you. No offense, but you can’t even dress yourself for winter weather. I doubt you could murder a man in cold blood.”
“Er, thanks?” I said. “I think you’ve helped plenty today, Allie.”
She gave a smug smile. “Oh, I know. You’re welcome.”
“It’s romance,” my mother said finally. “He can’t stay away from you, dear—not that I blame him. You’re irresistible. I mean, I made you myself, so I’m biased, but I think you’re great.”
“Thanks, mom,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But you’re just hankering to win the bet against May.”
“I was going to put my money on Matt,” sweater-lady said, “forced proximity and all. Allie had me convinced you’d pick the neighbor, but after seeing this burst of flames up in here...” She made a hand gesture in the general vicinity of me. “I think I’m changing my tune.”
“What are you going to wear tomorrow?” my mother asked. “Shall we pick out an outfit? You can’t wear those awful heels with your pajamas.”
“Oh, no,” I blanched. “I’m not actually going to bingo.”
“What?” Every head in the store swiveled to face me, but it was sweater-lady who broke the silence first. “Oh, honey, you have to go. If for no other reason than to prove you’re not a murderer.”
“And to fall in love,” my mother added. She pulled a slim dress off a rack and held it against her chest, letting it fan out over her
legs. “What do you think about pink? Pink says innocent, doesn’t it?”
Chapter 8
My mother succeeded in her mission. She sucked me into the process of trying on every single dress in the store and purchasing ten of them. Then again, it wasn’t like I had a ton of clothes to choose from at home—what with my bags being eaten by the airlines.
Allie had tried to encourage me away from dresses and to choose more practical items, but I’d had enough change in my life lately. I couldn’t add chunky sweaters into the mix and throw my entire wardrobe off, so I stuck to what I knew best, and that was dresses.
That was how I ended up clomping my way into May’s restaurant in a flowing red dress, thick tights, and the worst droopy hair of my life.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” May drawled from behind the counter. “Are you alive under there? What happened to the clothes I gave you this morning?”
“They’re in the car,” I said. “I did some shopping at the store and couldn’t carry everything home, so I wore it.”
“Uh-huh,” May said, sounding unconvinced. “Joe, come say hi to your cousin.”
I spun around to find an entire table of men who looked like firefighters staring right at me. Firefighters had a specific look to them—the everyday man with an extra dash of handsome thrown in, probably due to their ability to save cats and babies and women in danger. The shirts that had Blueberry Lake Fire stamped across them probably helped in my deduction, but I preferred to think I was partly psychic.
Not that I was a woman in need of saving, but if my house caught on fire and I was locked upstairs in Gran’s bedroom, I wouldn’t mind if one of the strapping young gentlemen sitting at the table climbed through the window to haul my (well-dressed) butt out of the house. That’s half the reason I packed an entire duffle bag full of nice pajamas.
One of the men in particular, however, caught my eye. Matt Bridges, June’s grandson and my brand-new neighbor. And the other man in my apparent love triangle, thanks to my mother and May. I smiled at Matt because it wasn’t his fault he’d been dragged into this mess with me.