Jasmine and Jealousy

by London Lovett

  "Me too." I stretched out my legs for some late afternoon sunning. "I wonder if they use some special kind of avocado," I mused, still thinking about the delicious guacamole.

  "There's something special in it, that's for sure. But you know back when I said 'if they're still there tomorrow?'"

  "Yeah." Nevermore decided my outstretched legs were an invitation to drape his long, floppy body across my shins. It seemed instead of a farmer's tan, I was going to get a lounging cat tan.

  "I'd heard they were staying two weeks. Everyone at the marina was talking about it and planning out their lunches for the next two weeks. But I was thinking they might leave early because of an incident that happened while I was happily eating my tacos."

  "Oh really? I wonder if it was the continuation of an incident I—" I cleared my throat. "I overheard at Les's outdoor tables."

  Dash smiled about my word choice. "Right, overhearing happens. I'd met the two brothers when I ordered my food. The younger, slighter one was working the window, and the big guy was leaning over the hot stove moving like a man on fire to get orders filled."

  "I don't know how those food truck owners manage in such a small, crowded and hot work space." Nevermore jumped off, and I pulled my legs back after realizing the sun was still blazing hot. "Especially in the heat of summer."

  "I don't think they were managing too well," Dash said. "I'd found a shady spot behind the truck. While I was eating lunch, the bigger brother stormed out the back door of the truck. Threw it open so hard, it ricocheted off the truck and snapped back shut. His face was red, and his meaty fists looked ready to punch something . . . or someone. He climbed on a bicycle and rode away, leaving the other brother to fend for himself. And the line was long."

  "Interesting. There seems to be a problem with teamwork in that truck, which makes working in such cramped quarters even more treacherous. The conversation I overheard was rather heated too. It was between Rico, that's the slighter brother, and their marketer, Cody, the guy who wrote the terrible stuff about Franki's food. Rico told him he needed to step up his game or he'd be out of a job."

  "Sounds like they've got some issues. Maybe I should go tomorrow to get one more dose of that guacamole. With so much fighting, they might not last the full two weeks. I'll just have to make sure Franki doesn't see me with one of their taco baskets," he added. "I don't want to lose my good standing at the diner."

  I sighed. "I'm afraid James and I worked very hard not to be noticed at the food truck, but the terrible sign drew Franki out of the diner. We just happened to be heading back right then, so she knows all about our traitorous actions."

  Dash pretended to shiver. "I would not want to be either of you when you walk back into that diner."

  I elbowed him. "Stop. I feel bad as it is. Anyhow"—I stood up and dusted off my bottom—"I'm meeting James down at the beach for a walk. It's the perfect night for a stroll on the sand."

  Dash stood up next to me. "I've got to shower. Kate and I are going out to dinner." There was just enough trepidation in his tone to coax a lecture out of me.

  "Dash, you're either in on all this or you're not. Don't keep getting her hopes up. Kate is really crazy about you."

  Dash nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'm going to make it work this time. I like being with her. Most of the time," he added and smiled at me. "I need someone who is as easy to talk to as you are. Briggs is a lucky man."

  I patted his arm. "Thank you. And, as far as Kate being easy to talk to—we only chat occasionally, but she's smart and has a lot of energy. Make it easy to talk to her by being yourself around her. Maybe then she'll relax too." There I was pulling back on those darn matchmaker shoes that got me into trouble with my best friend and assistant this week. Still, I was certain there was a way for Kate and Dash to make it work. He just needed to put a little more effort into the relationship.

  "Good advice as always, neighbor," Dash said as he trotted down the steps. "Have fun on your walk."

  "Thanks. Enjoy your dinner."

  Chapter 10

  Briggs texted to meet him at the station. He had the night off but needed to sign off on a few reports he'd left on his desk. He walked out of the station as I parked. He'd changed into a dark green t-shirt and shorts. The ensemble made him look extra handsome. The big floppy eared dog at his side only added to the appeal.

  "You look happy about having some free time. I'm glad they hired a second detective. It felt like you never had time off." I tried to kiss him first, but Bear stepped between us for some attention. I hugged the dog and then blew a kiss to the man behind the large, wiggly dog.

  "I have to admit, the idea that I can go out to dinner with some friends and not be called in for an emergency feels rather surreal, nicely surreal."

  We headed toward the beach. Bear shot to the end of his leash and put his nose down to the ground to sniff everything along the way.

  "You're going out to dinner?" I asked. I felt a little guilty about having plans on one of his first nights off, but I hated to cancel with Marty. He looked so forward to our dessert nights. I did too, for that matter. But a night with Briggs, free of potential interruptions, would have been wonderful too.

  "Tony and Mike are meeting me at that rib place in Mayfield." He patted his stomach. "Hungry as a bear too."

  Bear glanced back at the sound of his name.

  "Not you, clown," Briggs quipped.

  I glanced across the street and took hold of Briggs' arm. "Uh oh, Franki's pacing her parking lot." Franki was shaking her head, staring down at the asphalt as she walked back and forth. "She looks upset. We need to talk to her."

  Briggs shot me a sideways glance. "Do you think we're the people she wants to see right now?" It was a reasonable question considering our earlier run in with Franki, but I could never stand by when a friend was in need.

  I grabbed his free hand. "Yes, just don't bring up the rib restaurant in Mayfield."

  We crossed the street to the diner parking lot. It was noticeably vacant compared to usual. Franki didn't notice the trio of people and canine hurrying toward her until she spun around to pace the other direction. The look she gave us was somewhat non-committal. Not cheery and welcoming like she would have given us just twenty-four hours earlier but at least she wasn't scowling or putting up a hand to stop us on our quest to speak to her.

  Bear pulled ahead anxious to greet her, but Franki had no time for the poor guy. She was just too distraught. She waved her arm around. "Just look at this parking lot. It looks like a desert, no cars, no customers. It's all their fault." She waved clumsily and angrily toward the town square. "I heard they've shut down for the evening. At least maybe we'll get some customers for a late dinner. Unless everyone is too filled up on those supposedly fantastic tacos." She looked pointedly at us. Briggs and I reacted with proper shame by dropping our gazes first to the ground and then around at the trees and sky.

  "That's all right," Franki said. "I'm sure the food was delicious. I can't blame you for wanting to try something different for a change."

  I tilted my head. "Franki, you know everyone in this town considers your diner the best food around. This will pass quickly. Like you said—people just got lured in because it's something different."

  Franki took a deep breath. "I just hope I don't lose too much business. Two weeks is a long time in the restaurant business. I have huge overhead, not to mention two children in college and two more getting ready to head there soon."

  Bear nudged her and instantly set to work sniffing every inch of her. Franki patted the dog's head. "Guess you like my grilled hamburger and fried chicken perfume." She looked up in question. "Do you think I should change my menu, you know, make it more foodie culture friendly? It's kind of old-fashioned as it is."

  "Don't change one onion ring or pancake, Franki," Briggs said. "That's what keeps all of us coming back. It feels nostalgic, like going home, when we walk into your diner."

  His thoughtful words caused her eyes to get glassy. "That
's sweet of you to say, James. You're right." She shook her head. "I've got to stop over thinking this whole thing. Those kids will get bored of sitting in our dull, little town soon enough. Then everyone will be lining up to get back into the diner."

  Our mission had not been in vain. Franki was looking far less distressed.

  "I predict that the taco truck won't be here by next week," I said with absolutely nothing to back it up. Both Briggs and Franki waited for me to explain. There was no turning back, so I tossed out my best theory. "Their menu isn't varied enough. It's good but I think people will have their share of tacos soon enough. If business dies off, they'll pick up their chalkboard signs, roll up their awning and be off to the next town."

  Franki didn't look too convinced. I couldn't blame her. "I hope you're right, Lacey. In the meantime, I'm off for the evening with a plan to make myself a homemade spa night with clay face mask and milky bathtub soak. Might even paint my toenails."

  "That sounds like a great plan, Franki. Enjoy," I said.

  Bear had grown bored of the delicious aroma stuck to Franki's clothes. He was anxious to get to the sand and, with any luck, find some seagulls to harass. Briggs' arm shot straight out as the dog took off toward the beach. We followed behind his enthusiastic galumph.

  "Let's avoid the crowd on the wharf and head along Pickford Way to the steps near the lighthouse," Briggs suggested.

  It was a good call. As summer neared its hot frilly edges, people were taking advantage of some of the last long, lazy nights on the beach. People meandered along the wharf and adjoining pier enjoying ice creams and cold drinks as they gazed at the rippling blue ocean and the boats dotting the horizon.

  Briggs and I headed along the sidewalk bordering the town square. The endless line snaking around the square was gone, and the taco truck had shut its order window. The two brothers were standing behind the truck deep in a discussion that looked somewhat tense.

  Briggs and I both seemed to read each other's minds as we slowed our pace to pick up tidbits of the conversation. "It's your turn to do prep," Vince barked. "I did it the last two nights in a row and I'm tired. And frankly, I'm tired of you taking all the credit for starting this business. I heard you tell that group of women that you came up with the idea and the recipes. None of that was true. Getting a little sick of your bloated head."

  His brother, Rico, listened to his rant with a younger brother style smirk, a daring move considering how much bigger Vince was. Maybe he knew his brother well enough to know he'd never hit him.

  Rico threw his arms up. "All right. I'll do the prep tonight. I don't mind. Just go take a rest, old man. Apparently, all this work is getting to you."

  Vince shook his head in disgust and walked over to a bicycle leaning against the rear of the truck. "And make sure you do it right," he said before throwing his long leg over the bike and pedaling away. Rico watched his brother ride off before opening the door and disappearing inside the truck.

  "I imagine sibling rivalry gets in the way a lot when you're in business with a brother," Briggs said as we continued on our walk.

  "You don't have to tell me that, and they don't even have to be in the same business. Need I remind you of the Great Table War that happened right outside my shop door. I was Switzerland stuck right in the middle of it all."

  Briggs chuckled. "That did get a little out of hand. I wonder why the competition finally ended."

  "It cost too much money. Les had to take out a loan just to buy those expensive tables he has sitting outside his shop. They're nice but frankly a picnic bench works for a cup of coffee."

  Bear spotted a cluster of seagulls who were busily cleaning up the remnants of someone's lunch on the grassy knoll near the lighthouse. He pulled us toward them and promptly dispersed the crowd of unruly birds. Naturally, they returned the second Bear had moved on to his next focus, two pigeons on the back of a bench.

  "I take it since you're not even on call tonight, Detective Fairchild is on duty?" I asked.

  "Yes. Since it's relatively quiet right now, she's going to finish some paperwork. Apparently, she loves paperwork." He looked pointedly at me, his partner in despising paperwork.

  "Poor woman," I said. "I wonder what kind of trauma she endured in her childhood to turn her into a fan of paperwork. I'll bet the blame falls with one of her elementary school teachers."

  Briggs laughed as he dropped his arm around my shoulder. "As if I needed another reason to love you."

  Chapter 11

  I'd left the dessert, Elsie's decadent chocolate and coconut brownies, in the flower shop. Briggs and Bear walked me to the shop, and we parted ways for the night. I headed back along Pickford Way with my box of brownies. A light was on inside the taco truck. Through a small window, I caught a glimpse of Rico hunched over a counter chopping something with a large knife. Music thrummed from inside the truck. He didn't look too upset about having to do the prep work. Maybe he was just happy to be free of his brother for a few hours.

  Marty spotted me coming up the walk with my pink box. He was in the doorway, waving and smiling. He had on his favorite dark blue cardigan. It was still quite warm outside, but after visiting Marty at least half a dozen times, I'd discovered his tiny cottage could get drafty. It was adjacent to the lighthouse and situated on the cliff above the beach, so the ocean breeze was constantly throwing its energy toward the little house. I'd also learned that Marty rarely went anywhere without his cardigan. He'd told me he no longer had much 'meat on his bones' so he was always cold.

  Marty reached for the pink box. "Oh my, that's heavy." He lifted it to his nose. "I smell chocolate."

  "Yep. And the chocolate is accompanied by coconut and nuts."

  Marty closed the door as I stepped inside. "Wonderful. I made some hazelnut tea that will be the perfect beverage for these brownies."

  I lifted my nose for a sniff. "I can smell the hazelnut all the way out here."

  "Which, with your nose, isn't all that surprising." Marty added one of his soft, gritty chuckles. "Make yourself at home. I'll get the tea and put these brownies on a plate."

  "Thanks." I stopped to gaze out the front window. The cottage had an amazing view of the beach. A half moon lent its golden glow to the ivory sand below. It glistened off the ocean's surface and reflected back toward the window.

  Marty returned with his tea tray. It looked too heavy for his shaky hands. I rushed forward. "Here, let me get the plate of brownies." I picked it up off the tray to lighten the load.

  "Elsie sure packs those brownies full," Marty said. "They must weigh half a pound each."

  I put the plate down. The brownies were massive, at least an inch thick and loaded with brown sugar buttercream frosting and topped with toasted coconut. "I know I'll probably gain at least half a pound if I finish one by myself."

  Marty and I always had plenty to talk about. He listened raptly as I explained how badly Ryder's return went and how I was always caught in the middle with those two. He had a good chuckle about the whole thing, which made me chuckle. He was right. Even though Ryder probably didn't think so, it was all sort of ridiculous and amusing.

  "I noticed there was quite a hullaballoo about that bright green food truck." Marty poured himself another cup of hazelnut tea.

  "Yes, you'd think people in Port Danby had never had a taco in their lives the way people flocked to town square."

  Marty peered at me over the rim of his cup. "Thought I saw you and James eating some."

  My cheeks warmed. "Guess we got sort of caught up in taco-mania too. And poor Franki. It's really putting a crimp in the diner business."

  Marty put down his cup and saucer and relaxed back. He pulled the sweater around his chest, even though it was plenty warm inside. "I hadn't considered that it might harm Franki's business. Maybe I'll go eat lunch at the diner tomorrow."

  His idea thrilled me so much I placed a hand over his. "Would you? That would be great. Nothing brightens her day like a visit from her favorite customer."<
br />
  It was Marty's turn to blush. "She does make a bit of a fuss when I eat at the diner."

  I laughed. "A bit. Understatement of the year from the man who has his own favorite table and receives enough corn bread and French fries for an army. Please, do go. I think she'll feel so much better."

  Marty nodded emphatically. "I'll make a point of it."

  I rested back too. "See, I've only been here for an hour, and you've already helped me smooth out some problems. I'm feeling way cheerier than I was earlier in the evening."

  Marty pointed to the plate. "You can probably give half of that credit to Elsie's wonderful brownies."

  "You're probably right. That was an especially delicious brownie."

  "Now that I've solved all your current problems, shall we talk about the Hawksworth murders?" he asked.

  My favorite topic caused me to sit up straight. "I feel like I'm so close, Marty, but I'm not sure how this can be solved. It happened so long ago. There are no witnesses to interview, no current evidence to inspect. It's all going to boil down to me finding some definitive reason and motive for taking out not only Bertram Hawksworth but his whole family."

  Marty turned slightly to face me. "So you don't think an illegitimate baby between Jane Price and Bertram Hawksworth was enough? Harvard Price was a pretty big deal back then. He never lost an election, but that would have definitely raised some brows in Port Danby society."

  "See, that's just it. It might have raised some brows, but I think most of the time those types of scandals were ignored, or at least never discussed in polite society. I'm not even sure a local paper would dare post a headline about it."

  Marty rubbed his chin in thought. The gesture caused all the wonderful lines and wrinkles in his face to stretch and twist. "I suppose you're right. Besides, Harvard had so much power, no local paper would dare print something about him."

  "On top of that, from what we've uncovered"—I winked at him to let him know he was included in the we—"the baby was sent back to live with the Hawksworth family. People in town had to be able to put two and two together. Jane was sent away suddenly. That almost always signaled a pregnancy out of wedlock. I doubted Mrs. Hawksworth was keen to claim the baby as her own. I'm sure there were plenty of coffee gossip sessions about the tiny baby who had come to live with the Hawksworths. If everyone already knew, then Harvard certainly had no reason to kill the whole family."