by Cat Chandler
She straightened up with a long sigh. “At least until that poor woman was killed. Chris said it was probably an accident, but I heard she was murdered.” Emma put her hand up to her mouth to smother a gasp. “Is that why you’re spending so much time with the police? Everyone knows the research for those spy novels you write has given you all kinds of tips on how to solve a murder.”
Not entirely sure what one thing had to do with the other, Nicki only shrugged. “Well, it did happen right across the street, and I was there when Maxie discovered the body.”
“You were?” Emma’s mouth dropped open. She grabbed a nearby dishcloth that was folded neatly on top of the counter and held it up to her chest. “I think I’d have to take to my bed for a week if I saw something like that.”
“Yes… well… it can be very… upsetting.” Nicki took another sip of her wine and considered the woman who looked both shocked and fascinated over finding a dead body. “It’s harder when you know the person.” She paused for another moment. When Emma didn’t say anything, Nicki tried again. “Christophe told me that Viola had come in here several times.”
Emma’s eyes lit up, as if she’d just caught on to Nicki’s train of thought. “She did. We had several very nice conversations. She was a bit nosy, and pushy, but overall seemed nice enough.”
Thinking ‘nosy’ and ‘pushy’ were the words used most often to describe Viola Richards, Nicki nodded her agreement. “Genealogists tend to be like that. Did you know she traced family histories for a living?”
“She mentioned it. Asked me all kinds of questions about the Fabron family, but I really didn’t know all that much.”
When Emma fell silent again, Nicki decided on a change in direction. “I’ve been doing some research for the article I’m writing, and I was surprised to find out how many of the winery owners in the area can trace their roots back to France.”
“Really?” Emma lowered the cloth in her hand and absently ran it along the counter. “I didn’t know that. I mean aside from the Ingrams of course. They came from the same town as my mother-in-law did, Nuits-Saint-Georges. Have you heard of it?”
Keeping her expression neutral, Nicki gave a brief nod. “I have. It’s in Burgundy, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Mother Marie spent time there after Chris’s father died. That was before the two of them came to Soldoff, of course.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Christophe’s father. He must have passed away when your husband was very young,” Nicki said.
“Chris was about five, I think. It’s why Mother Marie left England. She couldn’t bear the memories there.” Emma smiled. “She’s also said it was just too cold in England. And in Northern France. I doubt if she stayed in Nuits-Saint-Georges even a full year. She’s been quite happy here in California.”
Nicki could certainly understand that. “The weather here is certainly better than what I left behind in New York.”
“Or in Liverpool,” Emma laughed. “That’s where I’m from. Chris and I met at Berkeley. I was taking a semester abroad, met Chris, and never went home again. Except to visit the family, of course.”
“Of course.” Nicki took another sip of her wine as she considered what Emma had said. “Then Marie Fabron was originally from York? And her husband too?”
“I really don’t know for sure. She’s hardly ever talked about him. Actually, only a sentence or two since I’ve known her. Chris never mentions him either, but I imagine he doesn’t remember much about his father. But Chris has always said that he was born in York, so I imagine his father’s family is from there.”
Not according to Jane’s research. Nicki made a mental note to put Maxie onto the problem. If anyone could dig up old marriage and birth records, Maxie could. After a quick glance at her watch, Nicki was considering how to graciously excuse herself when Emma suddenly leaned over the counter and once again dropped her voice to a whisper.
“You know, Chris hates it when I say this, but sometimes under that posh talk of hers, I can still hear a bit of a regional accent.”
“Regional accent?” Nicki frowned. “You mean something specific to a geographic area?”
“That’s right. There’s quite a few of them in England,” Emma said. “It’s funny, though. Chris has always said they were from York, but that isn’t what I hear. Whenever Mother Fabron has gotten upset, I fancy I always heard a bit of Cornish in her voice.” She laughed and took another swipe at the counter with her cloth. “Which she’d be horrified at and deny with her last breath, I’m sure. But it’s only an impression I get. She definitely sounds posh, just like Chris.”
“Cornish,” Nicki repeated. “That would be around Cornwall, in southern England?”
“It would.” Emma smiled. “They sound like what you Americans would think of as pirates, I guess, but then I’m from Liverpool, so you’d expect me to say something like that.”
Nicki returned her smile. “We feel the same in New York. If I hear a Brooklyn accent, my inclination is to smirk a bit.”
“Yes. It’s the very same thing.”
When Nicki stood up, Emma held out her hand again. “Thank you again for the cookies. I’m sure Mother Marie will enjoy them very much.”
“Thank you for this excellent wine. Maybe you wouldn’t mind selling me a bottle?”
Nicki patiently waited while Emma rushed into the back room hidden behind a curtain, returning with a bottle in a fancy wine bag sporting a curling black ribbon. She quickly rang up the sale, smiling the whole time. “I know you’ll enjoy it.”
“I’m sure of it.” Nicki lifted the bag off the counter and thanked Emma again before making her way out the door and back down the alley. The wine was very good, and certainly well worth the price, along with everything Emma Fabron had told her. Maybe she and Jane had been looking in the wrong place.
Ten minutes later she walked into the chaos going on everywhere in the town’s Events Center. The cavernous former barn was crawling with people, and the sound of hammers and saws was a constant backdrop to the loud mix of voices rising from every corner of the wide-open space.
It took her a good ten minutes to locate Alex and Jenna. Both were covered in sawdust as they held a long board in place while myMason moved along it with an electric nail gun. And on the other side of the half-finished booth, Chief Turnlow, minus his uniform and sporting a Golden State Warriors hat, hammered away on the top of a what looked like a long counter that Jane was keeping steady for him.
“Hey, Nicki!” Jenna yelled out, her voice barely carrying above the general noise level around them. “Come get your hands dirty with the rest of us.”
As she got closer, Jenna tilted her head toward the open door of the Events Center. “How’s my car?”
“Still in one piece,” Nicki yelled back.
“That’s too bad.” Jenna tossed her a pair of clear-plastic safety glasses. “Here, put these on and join in the fun.”
Happy to lend a hand, Nicki donned the glasses and took Alex’s place at holding the board so her friend could make a water run. It only took the five minutes Alex was gone for Nicki to be shaking sawdust out of her hair. The stuff was floating everywhere around them.
MyMason had finished the last nail as Alex walked up with an armful of water bottles. She jerked her head to let the rest of them know they should follow her outside. Once clear of the building, they all took in a deep breath.
“I’m going to scare up some face masks,” Alex declared. “We need those as much as the safety glasses.”
“I’ll second that,” myMason said. “I think I spotted a box of them on the far side of the entrance.”
As the doctor wandered off, the chief unscrewed the cap on his bottle and handed the water over to Nicki, trading her still-unopened one for his.
She thanked him then raised an eyebrow. “What’s this going to cost me?”
“Just an update on what you’ve been up to. Mason tells me you’ve mostly been sticking at home, doing research.”
Nicki took a deep sip of water before answering him. “That’s true.”
“Research on what?”
She shrugged. “Family histories, mostly.” When he only stared at her, she smiled. That was a clever trick of his to get someone to talk. And it usually worked quite nicely on her. “I think I found out what Viola was working on before she was killed.”
Jane gasped. “You mean the secret project?”
The chief rolled his eyes at his new helper’s dramatic tone. “Care to let the rest of us in on it?”
“There was an article printed in The Weekly Chat a couple of years ago about a wine event here in Soldoff.”
“A wine event in Soldoff isn’t news to anyone,” Jenna said. “They’re almost a weekly thing around here.”
“I know.” Nicki rubbed the top of her head, sending sawdust flying. “But this one was about wineries in the area whose owners could trace their roots back to France. It included pictures of the people who attended the event.”
“Pictures?” The chief didn’t look too impressed by that. “What was so special about the pictures?”
“One of them showed Charlie, Adam Ingram, and Christophe Fabron standing together.” She grinned at Chief Turnlow. “Madge told me that Viola showed her that same picture.”
Now the big man looked a lot more interested. “You don’t say. But why would she visit those three in particular? There must have been a lot of people at that event.”
“I don’t know for sure, but The Weekly Chat never has captions under its pictures. The article mentions the wineries but doesn’t identify anyone in the photos.” Nicki gave him a triumphant smile.
“Not that hard to look someone up, Nicki,” Mason pointed out. “Maxie does it all the time.”
“But in this case, maybe not as easy as you’d think, Mason.” Jane spoke up. “I spent the better part of the afternoon yesterday researching those wineries and the families that owned them. There were quite a few pictures of the wineries, and Adam Ingram’s grandparents, but Nicki told me that Charlie is notoriously camera shy, and I found write-ups but no pictures of the other two men, or Marie Fabron for that matter.”
Jenna laughed. “I can vouch for what Jane’s saying about Charlie. When I did his website for him, he put pictures of his latest flower creations all over it. There isn’t one of a human being anywhere.”
“Is that so,” the chief repeated. He kept his stare on Nicki. “So, you think Viola had to come here to get a look at them? Why would she do that?”
“She knew something.” She sighed when the chief’s stare turned into a skeptical look. “I know, it’s only a gut feeling, but I think her research dug up something.”
Chief Turnlow took a long drink of water, then took a seat on a log just behind him. “It’s possible. She might have found out something worth killing over. So out of those three, who does your gut tell you murdered the victim?”
“I can’t say. But it certainly wasn’t Charlie.”
“Which leaves Adam or Christophe,” Jenna said.
“Or one of their wives,” the chief added. “Women kill too, and they have as much to lose as their husbands. Think either one of those wives could have held Viola down?”
Nicki pictured Allie and Emma. Neither of them was as big or strong as their husbands, but they were a lot younger and in much better shape than Viola.
“It’s possible,” she said, echoing the chief’s words. “We still have more research to do. Both families have a connection to York, and possibly Cornwall.”
Jenna huffed out a loud breath. “So, an English rather than a French connection?”
“I’d bet on it,” Nicki said. “I’m sure that’s why Viola told Maxie she wanted a tea party with scones and not baguettes and then had a fit when Roe suggested she serve macarons rather than an English biscuit.”
“Which is just the English version of a cookie,” Jane said. “I’m certainly ready to dive into the research as soon as we get home.”
Smiling at Jane calling the townhouse “home”, Nicki saw the chief frown.
“Something wrong, Chief?”
The head of the Soldoff police department took his Warriors’ hat off and ran a hand over the top of his head. “No. Not as long as you sit at your computer and don’t go chasing after clues that could get you into trouble. I’ve still got that itch.”
Nicki raised her right hand, palm out. “Scouts’ honor.”
The chief narrowed his eyes at her. “You’ve said that before, and never have told me if you were ever a Girl Scout.”
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Seven
The rest of the afternoon went by in a blur as Maxie’s sea of volunteers swarmed all over the Events Center. The place was a madhouse of frenzied activity as booths were built, floors and countertops cleaned, and decorations put up everywhere there was an empty spot.
Chief Turnlow was called away, and Nicki had only had an occasional sighting of Maxie here and there, but the work continued at a steady pace. As the sun began its slow descent toward the western horizon, the finishing touches were finally put on the three booths Maxie had assigned to her husband’s “crew”.
Proud of their hard work, but tired to the bone, Nicki and her friends made their way to the cars. By a unanimous vote, including one by the very health-conscious Alex, they decided to stop at Eddie’s. Everyone picked out their burger of choice to take back to Nicki’s place, where she quickly threw together a large cheese and vegetable plate to add some balance to the burgers and a mountain of fries.
It was close to nine p.m. when Nicki and Jane waved goodbye to the last of their guests. As soon as the door shut, both of them headed straight to the home office and their respective computers.
“So what do we look for?” Jane asked as she scooted her chair closer to her desk.
Nicki reached over and pushed on the power button. Nodding when the monitor immediately lit up with her screen saver and a field to enter a password. “Anything you can find on the Ingrams or Fabrons.” Her forehead wrinkled in thought. “You’ve already looked in York, try the smaller towns around that area. I’ll start in Cornwall.”
For the next hour the only sound in the office was clicking noises from keyboards and an occasional whir of the printer. Nicki frowned as she tried a search in a new town and came up empty. She’d had the same result when she’d looked for a connection in Falmouth and Penzance. So far, she hadn’t found anything about Adam’s grandparents or Marie Fabron in either of the three largest towns in Cornwall. Frustrated, she leaned back in her chair and glared at her computer screen.
“I feel exactly the same way,” Jane declared from across the room. “I’m not finding much more on the Ingrams, and still absolutely nothing on Marie Fabron.” She swiveled her chair around until she was facing Nicki. “Do you think we aren’t spelling it right? Lots of families changed the spelling of their names when they came to America.”
Nicki smiled. “Before World War Two they certainly might have, but I doubt if that was true in 1988.” But it was as if Marie Fabron was a ghost, with no past and very little mention in the present. Nicki frowned. It was almost as if she didn’t want to be found.
“I’m exhausted.”
Jane’s simple statement covered exactly how Nicki felt too. It had been a long day. Especially if she was starting to imagine that she was chasing ghosts. Whatever the reason, their searches for the Fabron family were coming up empty, the explanation was definitely in the real world. They simply hadn’t found it yet.
Nicki set her computer to power down and shut off. “Let’s call it a night. We still have three hundred cookies to bake in the morning.” She stood up and stretched before turning a smile on Jane. “Provided you still want to volunteer for that duty? After today’s workout, I wouldn’t blame you at all if you wanted to beg off.”
“Of course not. I’ll be as good as new after a solid night’s sleep. I certainly want to do my part for the children.” Jane stifled a huge yawn. “What
time do we get started?”
“Six thirty?” Nicki grinned when Jane groaned. “We not only need time to complete the make-and-bake, but we also have to package them all up in the very cute little bags Suzanne bought.” Nicki shook her head. “She took it as a charity event and an advertising opportunity for the cooking classes.”
“Very enterprising of her,” Jane said between yawns.
Hoping the admin wouldn’t fall asleep where she was standing, Nicki pointed to the door. “Let’s go. Tomorrow is another day.”
Nicki almost shut the jarring alarm off and rolled back over to get a little more sleep. Almost. But the thought of all the kids counting on her cookies to raise money for books, not to mention disappointing Maxie, forced her out of bed and into the shower.
Half an hour later, she walked into her empty kitchen at precisely six-thirty. Nicki was tying an apron around her waist when Jane came rushing through the door, her blouse was on inside out, and she was missing her fuzzy slippers.
“I am sorry I’m late.”
Jane looked so flustered just saying the words, that Nicki wondered if the admin had ever been late before in her life. Smiling at her new baking assistant, Nicki glanced at the large clock on the wall.
“I don’t think five minutes is going to affect our schedule.” She pointed at Jane’s feet. “But you do need to put on some shoes.” When Jane looked down and gasped, Nicki laughed. “Your slippers will do fine too. I got an apron out for you, and as soon as you’re ready, just jump right in setting up the cookie sheets on the counter. I’ve got four of them stacked, lined and ready to go. I don’t have a double oven, so we’ll be baking two at a time and washing them in between so we can use them for another batch. We need three hundred cookies, so that’s twenty-five batches, or thirteen rounds of baking. At ten minutes a batch, we’ll need just over two hours of baking time, plus the prep time, cooling time, and packaging time.”