I thanked her, hung up, and went to tidy the display of scented drawer liners. As I arranged the rolls, I inhaled the hints of cedar, citrus, and sage that escaped from the packaging and thought about my conversation with Dr. Radcliffe. He’d seemed quite fond of Eureka, as had Haley. How had Eureka reacted to them?
I racked my brain but couldn’t remember anything unusual about their conversation in Library Park. They’d obviously been friends if she’d invited him to Poppyville, and he’d certainly seemed upset about her death. But the look in his eyes when he’d spoken of her made me wonder if he might have wanted to reignite their relationship.
* * *
• • •
THE tea party finally wound down right before I closed the shop. In addition to the perfume and saffron, I sold them a box of cedar drawer liners, four packs of scratch ’n’ sniff stickers for the kids, a lemon and sage soy candle, and a selection of spiced soaps.
I flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED, gathered all the teacups and saucers to wash in my own kitchen, tidied up stray napkins and tea bags, and returned the chair to where it usually sat on the flagstone patio. Then I went out and unloaded the back of the Wrangler and put everything away.
Ritter was going to pick me up at seven thirty for our reunion dinner at the Sapphire Supper Club, and I wanted to look especially nice. I cleared the register, locked up Scents & Nonsense, and hurried down the path to my waiting shower. Dash ran ahead of me and met me at the door, his doggy grin seeming to echo my own anticipation of my upcoming date.
Date! It had been so long!
I tossed a shower bomb on the floor of the round, high-sided Japanese tub, and soon the steamy air was filled with the scents of clove and cinnamon. Spicy, enticing scents that would linger subtly on my skin and hair. When I stepped out, I applied orange-scented body butter, donned my comfy robe, and carefully applied tinted moisturizer, eyeliner, mascara, and a swipe of lip gloss. A few minutes with the blow-dryer turned my curls into tame waves. I eyed them, knowing a single encounter with humidity would make them frizz right back into ringlets. On an impulse, I gathered my hair up, pinning it here and there and letting the ends flip down. If they curled as the evening went on, so be it.
Suddenly, my image in the mirror gave me pause. With my hair pinned up like that and the high collar of my robe, I looked even more like the woman in the picture from the time capsule.
Who were you, Alma?
My stomach growled as I went upstairs to get dressed. Once again, the day had whizzed by, and I’d skipped lunch, intending to grab something to eat at the grocery store—the one errand I hadn’t completed. It was a good thing Spence had brought me the bagel earlier—even if it turned out his timing could have been better.
In my bedroom, I pulled out a dress with a blue handkerchief skirt I’d been told matched my eyes, a pair of black ponte pants, and a pinkish beige silk blouse with bell sleeves and a neckline that plunged lower than I was usually comfortable with.
“What do you think?” I asked Dash, who’d followed me up the stairs and now watched from the end of the bed where I’d laid out my choices.
He nosed the dress, looked up at me quizzically, then went over and lay down by the blouse.
“Really?”
He blinked slowly.
“You’re right. The dress might be a bit more, er, innocent looking than I want tonight.”
After I dressed, I slipped on a pair of patent leather pumps to dress up the pants a bit more and fastened my mother’s pearls around my neck. They gleamed with the patina of age, which complemented the color and sheen of the blouse—and perhaps distracted a bit from my décolletage.
Or not.
Small gold earrings completed the look, and I went back downstairs to open the wine and tidy the living room.
At seven fifteen, my phone rang. It was Ritter.
“Elliana, I’m so sorry. I’m going to have to put off our dinner until tomorrow night.”
“What?” It wasn’t the most graceful answer, but he’d surprised me.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “God, I’d never do this to you if I didn’t have to.”
My stomach flip-flopped. “Is something wrong? Is Thea okay? Are you okay?”
“No, no, nothing like that. It’s the project.”
“The . . .”
“The research project,” he said. “They ran into some issues, and they need my help to make sure the data doesn’t become compromised. It’s important, Elliana. The scientific results of the whole mission up there could be invalidated if I don’t step in.”
Mission. It sounded like he’d been to the moon. Close enough, from my side of things.
“I understand,” I said. And I did. He loved his work, and he’d come home sooner than he probably should have—for me. I couldn’t begrudge his breaking a date with me to save almost six months’ worth of work.
“I’d like to say it won’t take that long, and we could meet for a late dinner,” he said in a defeated voice. “But I’d be lying. From what I just learned on the phone, we’ll need several hours of videoconferencing to straighten things out.” He swore.
Ritter never swore. This was bad.
“We’ll have lots of dinners together,” I said. “You go save your project and absolutely don’t worry about me. I’ve waited this long. I can wait another day.”
He groaned.
“I’m serious! That wasn’t to make you feel guilty!”
“I do anyway,” he said. “You are the best. I’ll try to call you if it’s not too late. Otherwise, I’ll check in with you tomorrow morning.”
“Deal,” I said. “Now go save the tundra.”
We hung up, and I looked down at Dash. “Well, buddy. Looks like it’s you and me tonight.”
Again.
Trying to tamp down the disappointment curling in my stomach, I went into the kitchen to find something to eat.
Except the cupboards were almost bare. I’d figured skipping the grocery store didn’t matter since we were going out to eat. The plan had been to enjoy a glass of wine together before our reservations at eight o’clock. The thought that I could still go to the Sapphire flitted through my mind but didn’t take purchase. This was to be a celebration, and it would be in time. Going by myself would only make me feel terrible.
I found a box of stale cereal but was out of milk. I’d eaten the last of the peanut butter with saltines for breakfast the day before. Even the eggs were gone, used in the pasta carbonara I’d thrown together the night before. A half-dried chunk of cheddar greeted me in the cheese bin.
Sighing, I pulled it out and sliced off the wrinkled part. Then I grabbed the few saltines that were left, a knife, and the lone apple in the fruit bowl.
At least it will be a balanced meal.
The wine stood open on the coffee table next to two goblets. I grabbed it and one of the glasses as I passed by on my way to enjoy my repast in the Enchanted Garden.
CHAPTER 12
THE evening had turned cloudy while I’d been inside primping. A damp chill enveloped Dash and me as soon as we walked outside, and a stiff wind tossed the oak branches above. The tulips had closed against the dark, and now leaned toward the ground with each gust. The chimes that hung from the eaves of the shop clanged and pinged and rattled and rang, filling the air with a cacophony of sound. Above, the rooster weathervane on top of the shop’s roof peak spun to and fro like a drunken square dancer.
Not a great night for a picnic.
Still, I didn’t want to stay in my house. It felt depressing after all the planning for the evening with Ritter. I hurried to the back door of Scents & Nonsense and let myself inside. Nabby regarded me with sleepy eyes from his bed, now situated in the window, before turning his attention to the storm brewing on the other side of the glass.
After flipping on the display case and
office lights, I considered the cheese and crackers. Then I pushed them aside, climbed onto a stool, and called Astrid.
“Ritter stood you up?” she exclaimed after I’d offered to buy her a drink and a pot of her favorite bacon mac and cheese at the Roux Grill.
“How did you even know we had a date?”
“Duh. I talked to Thea. Everyone knows.”
Great.
“Well, he didn’t stand me up. He had to work.”
She blew a raspberry.
“No, really, it’s okay. At least he came back from Alaska early.”
“Yeah, I guess. But I can’t have dinner with you tonight. Sorry.”
I sighed. “Let me guess. You have a date with Dylan Wong.”
“Yep!” I could almost hear her grinning.
“Where are you going this time?”
“Willie’s Pool Hall for pub grub.”
“What? That place is gross. I think the health department almost shut it down last month—not to mention the clientele.”
“Don’t be a snob, Ellie. It doesn’t suit you. And they mostly serve stuff from the Schwan’s truck. Straight from the freezer to the microwave.”
“Ugh.”
“Don’t knock it ’til you try it. The bagel dogs are half-awesome with enough mustard.”
My stomach growled. I eyed the wine, then reached over and poured myself a glass.
“What do you know about this Dylan guy?” I asked.
“Let’s see. He’s an antiques dealer in San Francisco who’s here to go to a bunch of estate sales. Bargain hunting, you know? He’s thirty-nine, drinks tequila, is gluten intolerant, and, oh, did I mention he’s hot?”
“I believe that came up,” I said wryly, and took a big swallow of wine.
She laughed.
“All right. Have a good time playing pool and eating your bagel dogs and whatever else you have in mind.”
“Okay,” she said. “Don’t be sad about Ritter.”
“I’m not sad!”
“Yeah. Okay. Good night, Ellie.”
We hung up.
I was sad. Not mad. Just sad.
I took another swallow of the expensive cabernet sauvignon from my big red wine goblet. The deep tannins mixed with plummy notes and chocolate tones and the tiniest hint of jasmine. I cut a piece of not-too-dried cheese, plopped it on a saltine cracker, and took a bite.
Better than nothing. Probably not better than a pool hall bagel dog, though.
Still, I felt better after I ate a little. When I’d finished the apple, too, I took my wine into the office, turned on the computer, and settled in. If Ritter had to work tonight, I could, too. I had e-mail to answer, orders from my online shop to process and get ready to fill the next day, and inventory to order for the summer crowds.
Only I didn’t do any of that. Instead, I ran a search on Dylan Wong.
That turned out to be a fairly common name, and one that spanned the globe. A little more work narrowed it down to an insurance adjuster in Davenport, Iowa, a baseball player for a farm team in Colorado, and then, bingo: an import-export dealer who lived in San Francisco. Slightly different than an antiques dealer, but still.
I sat back in my chair, poured a bit more wine, and considered the screen. What did an importer-exporter do, anyway? Specifically, what was he importing and exporting?
Antiques? And if that were the case, he might consider himself an antiques dealer, which was exactly what he’d told Astrid.
That made sense. Right?
So, what was it about the guy that sent my hackles to attention? I’d felt that way the very first time I’d seen him.
At the time capsule ceremony.
Antiques dealers would be interested in the past, of course, just like historians. Well, maybe not the past itself, but things from the past. From what Astrid had said he wasn’t in town because of the museum, but news of the time capsule had been circulating, so he probably heard about it at the Hotel California, where he was staying.
Nothing wrong with that.
I put down my glass and went back to the keyboard. There was only one picture of him when I searched images. It had been taken at a high school reunion a few years back.
A site that offered to do background checks kept showing up in my search results. I clicked on it. Had a sip of wine. Considered my options.
Do I really feel that strongly about the guy? I mean, Astrid has dated some weirdos before. It never came to anything. She’s a serial dater. He’ll be gone in no time.
I made a face at the cost of the background check. And not only did it cost more than I felt comfortable with, they wanted you to sign up for a monthly subscription with the fee taken directly from your bank account. Seemed like an awful lot just to see if there was evidence to back up my icky feeling about Dylan.
Opening a new window, I searched for estate sales in Poppyville. There was one recent one. It had ended the previous weekend, two days before the contents of the time capsule had been brought to light.
So why was Mr. Wong still in Poppyville?
Maybe for Astrid. After all, men loved Astrid. She was never at a loss for male companionship. Yet he’d just met her.
Could he have recognized the Xavier manuscript as being valuable—perhaps more than Eureka could have dreamed—and stolen it?
You’re overreacting, Ellie. He would have left town by now if he’d killed Eureka. Besides, he was on a date with Astrid.
I thought of Max with his warrant for the names of people who had come to Poppyville to see what was in the time capsule and then left. Some would have taken off right after the ceremony, but anyone could have checked out of the hotel and then stayed out of sight until they could break into Heritage House that night. Only they wouldn’t have had to break in, because Eureka was already there.
How to explain where you were to the police during that time, though? Dylan, on the other hand, had a great alibi. He was with Astrid that evening and hadn’t left town afterward. So why would the police be suspicious of him?
If it was a deliberate alibi, then it was darn clever. Also, that would make Dylan a pretty scary guy.
Eureka had been killed between when Maria had seen her at nine thirty and when I’d found her a little after midnight. So when exactly had Astrid and Dylan met for drinks?
I took another slug of wine, eyed the background search one more time, then typed in “Dylan Wong, antiques, San Francisco.” Then on impulse, I added, “arrest.”
An article from the San Francisco Chronicle popped up in the search results.
“Uh-oh,” I said to Dash, who was lying by my foot. He cracked an eye, then rolled onto his back to resume his nap.
I scanned the article, and my alarm grew with each paragraph. Dylan Wong had been arrested for selling stolen antiquities. Specifically, he’d offered a collection of Native American artifacts from the Ohlone tribe to an undercover agent of the California Bureau of Investigation. Most of the article seemed to concentrate on the person Dylan had received the items from, as the CBI had been watching that individual for a while. Dylan was quoted as saying he had no idea anything had been wrong, and that the man he’d brokered the deal for had lied to him.
Really? That didn’t seem like something anyone with experience in the antiques business would stumble into.
So, had he or hadn’t he lied to Astrid?
More Internet searching failed to reveal what had happened after the arrest. Had Dylan actually been convicted of a crime?
I went back to the website that sold background checks. That anyone anywhere could use that service felt downright creepy to me, but at the same time, I was sorely tempted to do so myself. But I had another option.
Loud pounding on the front door made me jump, and Dash flipped onto his feet in one smooth motion. The clock on the computer showed it wa
s almost nine o’clock. Heart pounding double time, I crept to the doorway and peered around the jamb.
Spence was standing with his hands cupped around his face, trying to see into the dark shop. He saw me, waved, and stepped back. Puzzled, I threaded my way through the displays and opened the door. The scents of wet leaves and ozone swirled inside with him.
“What are you doing here so late?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all. I was just driving by and saw your lights were on. Thought maybe you were working late.”
I gave him a look. “Seriously?” He’d known Ritter and I had dinner reservations.
He grinned as he looked me over. “You sure don’t look like you’re working. In fact, you look great.” Then his gaze shot over my shoulder. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Feeling my face turning pink, I shook my head and backed up to let him in. Locking the door, I said, “Ritter’s the one who had to work tonight.”
“Stood you up, huh.” He stooped to pet Dash, who had come out to greet him.
“Not at all.” I walked toward the counter, my tone cool and my blush fading. “There was an issue with his research project that he had to attend to. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”
He followed right behind me and leaned against the display case. “Right.” Sardonic. “Sounds to me like his work is more important to him than you are.”
I tried to glare, and opened my mouth to defend Ritter, to point out that he’d cut his stay in Alaska short to come back to me, but my eyes filled up with tears, and what came out instead was, “Spence, that was just mean.”
He blinked, then looked abashed. “I’m sorry.”
“What is your problem today?” I asked.
We looked at each other for a few beats, and then he said, “You really don’t know.”
“I—”
My phone rang. It was Ritter.
“Hello?” I knew I sounded eager, but maybe this meant he’d be able to make dinner after all.
“Hey, Elliana.”
“Oh, gosh. You sound tired,” I said.
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