Marigolds for Malice

by Bailey Cattrell

  “Say what you will, he has the chief’s ear.” He pointed, and I saw Chief Gibbon had joined Max in the booth.

  Trixie stopped and set a cup of coffee in front of the chief. He smiled and said something to her. She turned away to another customer without smiling back.

  “Looks awful busy in here,” I said. “You sure you have enough help?”

  “Got a new waitress,” Harris said.

  “I see that. Looks like she’s great with the customers.”

  He didn’t seem to notice my sarcasm.

  She stumbled right then, and nearly dropped her tray—and the pitcher of beer on it.

  “Does she have any experience?” I asked.

  “Of course!”

  “Bull pucky,” I said, borrowing from Astrid. “She doesn’t know anything about waiting tables.”

  “Well, I’ll make sure she gets plenty of experience here,” he said.

  “You’re an idiot and a pig,” I said evenly. “And she’s married.”

  I didn’t think I needed to worry about Trixie being able to handle my ex-husband. That woman could take care of herself. However, she obviously hated working at the Roux. So why was she?

  Money. It had to be. Maria mentioned there were rumors about their financial situation. Warren must be having trouble at his dealership. No wonder they were so determined to get Eureka’s house as soon as possible.

  I made a note to check with Lupe about Warren and Trixie’s finances. If she’d tell me, that was.

  Were they desperate enough to kill Eureka and try to make it look like a robbery? And if so, what had they done with the Xavier manuscript?

  “You always think the worst of me,” Harris said.

  “Trixie might be cute, but she won’t last a week.”

  He smiled. “We’ll see. You know her, then?”

  “Not really.” I changed the subject. “Your early Friday happy hour looks successful.”

  “From three to six well drinks, wine, and beer are two dollars. By the time the dinner hour rolls around, people have to stay and have a big meal to soak up the booze.”

  “Classy,” I said.

  He nodded happily.

  Movement drew my eye, and I saw Astrid waving at me.

  “It’s been lovely,” I said to Harris, and started toward her.

  I was halfway to her booth when I saw she had a companion in the opposite seat. Dark hair cut short, longish sideburns, slight build, tall.

  Dylan Wong.

  Dang it.

  Not in the mood for a happy hour confrontation, I picked up my pace a bit and breezed by their table with a quick, “Gotta pick up some food for the gathering this afternoon.”

  “Ellie Allbright, you sit down right now,” Astrid said.

  I slowed. Turned. Saw she was smiling at me, and it appeared to be genuine. I took a breath, nodded, and slid into the seat next to her.

  Trixie came over. “You want anything?”

  “Maybe later,” I said.

  She drifted back toward the bar. I watched her for a few seconds, then brought my attention back to my companions. Both appeared to be drinking iced tea.

  Not everyone will have to stay for dinner after drinking your cheap booze, Harris.

  “You remember Ellie, don’t you, Dylan?” Astrid asked her date.

  “Sure. Nice to see you again.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “You, too.”

  She beamed at us both. Something was going on.

  “Astrid tells me you have a terrific garden behind your perfume shop. Sounds cool. Maybe I’ll come with her to your friend’s memorial this afternoon, so I can see it.”

  I blinked. “Um, I’ll give you a tour if you’d like. Another time.” It hit me sideways that he wanted to attend our gathering to honor Eureka as if it were just another date with Astrid.

  “Oh, that’s okay,” he said easily. “I’d like to see your shop, too.”

  I gave him a tight smile, ready to bolt for the kitchen and my waiting appetizers.

  “Honey, I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to bring cookies by this morning,” Astrid said. “I made up a batch of lemon sour cream cookies first thing, but then had to get right to work. So, I decided to bring those this afternoon.” Her smile was open and affectionate.

  I felt my angst and anxiety about our argument the night before melting away. “I was a little worried,” I admitted. “But you know you don’t have to bring goodies to the shop every day.”

  “She’s an amazing baker, isn’t she?” Dylan asked. “And I can testify that those lemon cookies are to die for.”

  He’d sampled them? In the morning before she went to work? Even after I’d warned her?

  I felt my hackles rise again.

  “Dylan, you remember that manuscript that was in the time capsule?” Astrid asked out of the blue.

  I barely managed not to gasp. What was she thinking?

  He frowned, then his face cleared.

  “Oh, sure. I guess I’ve been thinking of that as a palimpsest—since it was so old and written on vellum.”

  “Right,” she said. “You’d know the particulars of what to call something like that since you’re in the business of buying and selling old things.”

  I bristled internally. As if Eureka wouldn’t know? Not to mention that Dylan had supposedly seen the Xavier manuscript only on Wednesday afternoon, just like the rest of us, but he sure seemed to remember an awful lot about it.

  “It’s missing,” Astrid said. “And since you’re in that business, Ellie and I were wondering if you could tell us how easy it would be for the thief to sell it.”

  Dylan considered me for a long moment. “And are you and Ellie wondering where said thief might be able to sell it?”

  “Well, sure, if you know!” Astrid said. “That might give the police another way to find Eureka’s killer.”

  My eyes were still locked with Dylan’s. He looked away first. When he did, I glanced over at Max and Chief Gibbon sitting a few tables away. They were both watching us.

  Dylan sat back and spoke in a clipped, professorial tone. “It would be next to impossible to sell that palimpsest to a reputable dealer. They would require evidence of the provenance, and as a matter of course the authorities will have already contacted organizations like the Art Dealers Association of America to let them know it had been stolen.” He looked toward the ceiling, thoughtful. “Of course, there are private dealers who are not so concerned with ethics, or it’s possible whoever took it had a collector waiting for it who wouldn’t ask any questions.” His gaze returned to Astrid. “Whatever the thief was thinking, that piece is unlikely to be found.”

  “Ever?” I asked without even trying to keep the horror out of my voice.

  He nodded. “Think about it. After what happened to Dr. Sanford, anyone found with the manuscript would be assumed either to be a murderer or to know the murderer.”

  He made a face and suddenly put his elbows on the table and snagged me with his eyes again. “Listen, Ellie. Theft is one thing, but murder is so much worse. I, uh . . .” He trailed off. Looked at Astrid. She smiled at him. He smiled back and put his hand over hers on the table.

  I watched them, baffled.

  “I made a mistake one time,” he said. “I once brokered the sale of something very old and valuable even though the provenance was a bit sketchy. It was a small collection of onyx artifacts from the Ohlone tribe. I should have known better, but I trusted the guy who wanted me to set up the deal. It turned out that I shouldn’t have.” He took a deep breath. “He got caught, and I got in a boatload of trouble.” A shudder ran through his body, and Astrid squeezed his hand. “I can’t even imagine how awful it would be if there had been a murder involved.”

  Astrid tore her gaze away from Dylan to give me an I told you so look.

>   “Good information,” I said neutrally, checked the time, and rose. “I’m afraid I really do have to grab the food for this afternoon’s gathering and get back to help Larken set up. I’ll see you there.”

  “Okeydoke,” Astrid said, turning back to Dylan.

  I nodded to Chief Gibbon and Max as I hurried by on my way back to the kitchen, pretty sure they’d both been listening. I hoped so, just in case they’d learned something new—especially about Mr. Dylan Wong’s illegal past. Because even though I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt for Astrid—at least she had managed to convince me he wasn’t a killer—beneath the savory scents of the restaurant, I still smelled a lie of some kind.

  Chief Gibbon nodded back with a perfect poker face, so I didn’t know if he was upset with me or not. Max was far easier to read. His eyes were narrowed, and with a start, I realized he looked a little nervous.

  Was he afraid I’d show him up again?

  Well, it wasn’t my fault if he wasn’t a very good detective.

  CHAPTER 18

  ONCE again, I’d been sidetracked and hadn’t managed to get to the grocery store before having to get back to Scents & Nonsense. However, there would be food at the memorial, and Ritter and I would head to the Empire Room afterward. I was already looking forward to their Guinness beef stew and colcannon as I parked in the lot across the street from my shop.

  As I crossed Corona Street, a bundled-up figure several yards away raised a hand in a tentative greeting. Lowering my sunglasses, I saw it was Bongo Pete. He was heading into Raven Creek Park, where he could often be found walking the fitness trail or spending time down by the water. Quickly, I waved back, not wanting him to think I was ignoring him or hadn’t seen him. Most thought Pete Grimly strange, but he demonstrated a sensitivity I found both philosophical and otherworldly.

  I wonder what he thought of the stuff in the time capsule, I thought as I continued across Corona Street. Though perhaps he’d lost interest and wandered away. I didn’t remember seeing him after the mayor had finished.

  Inside the shop, the boxed orders had been picked up, and Scents & Nonsense was clean and tidy. I found Larken on the patio, where she’d dragged out a set of canvas directors’ chairs from the storage closet. Dash and Nabby supervised from under the birdbath in the Enchanted Garden.

  “Oh, I’d forgotten I had those,” I said, setting down the containers of food the chef at the Roux had had waiting for me. “Let’s put a few in the greenhouse. People might want a little time alone or to have a more private conversation.”

  She pointed at me. “Good idea. A hidey-hole for the introverts.” She picked up a couple of the folded chairs and headed toward the back of the property.

  I followed behind with another chair. She pushed open the unlocked door of the greenhouse, and we went inside.

  The space was a bit over fifteen feet deep and twelve feet wide. Thea had helped me install wooden planting benches on either side of the gravel-strewn center aisle, and now they boasted flats of herb starts, along with baby heirloom vegetables for Larken and Colby to put in their garden. The distinctive scent of tomato leaves twined around the licorice-like smell of tiny basil leaves, and as I breathed in the miasma, I automatically thought of Gamma.

  Tomatoes for love and for poison, two sides of a coin.

  Basil for best wishes but also for hatred, so carefully judge.

  The Victorian language of flowers was a convoluted one, indeed.

  Among the flats were the more delicate plants from the Enchanted Garden, overwintered and ready to return to their places outside within the week. There were jasmine and moonflowers, oleander and oxalis, hanging begonias and fuchsias. Near the door, I’d placed the Brugmansia, or angel’s trumpet, opposite the Datura, aka devil’s trumpet, in an ironic nod to their names. Both were highly toxic despite their sweet fragrances.

  I left the chairs for Larken to set up and went to retrieve platters for the food.

  Fifteen minutes later, a few new seating areas had been added around the garden, and two tables were covered with bright blue tablecloths that a wedding party had left behind the previous summer. I set out the deviled eggs, caprese toasts, spinach and queso dips, cheese platter, chicken wings, and a big bowl of the Roux’s special red potato salad with bacon, sunflower seeds, and buttermilk dressing.

  In the open air of the garden, the scents of dill, cheddar, vinegar, and onion mixed with the sweetness of wallflowers and the earthier fragrances of hydrangeas and tulips. Larken had propped the door of the greenhouse open with an etched rock that read Breathe, and soon the perfumes of those plants joined the aromatic fray.

  Leaving Larken to greet the first arrivals, I headed down to my tiny house to change out of my jeans and sweater into something more respectful—and suitable for my long-awaited reunion dinner with Ritter later that evening.

  I decided on the skirt Dash had rejected the evening before. Looking at myself in the mirror, I debated whether to create the same updo that had made me look so much like Alma Hammond, then shook my head and brushed my curls into waves that fell below my shoulders. I didn’t need to look any more like Alma. I already shared her blood.

  * * *

  • • •

  I STOOD by the back door of the shop with Ritter. He was clean-shaven and appeared refreshed after finally getting a few hours of sleep at Thea’s. His cinnamon-colored shirt, so crisp it crackled beneath my fingertips when I touched his arm, matched his eyes and the highlights in his longish hair. Trying not to be too obvious, I breathed him in, thankful that he was finally there in the flesh and not just a voice on the phone.

  The impromptu Poppyville phone tree had done its job, and dozens of people milled and talked in the Enchanted Garden. All the Greenstockings except Gessie were already there, along with most of the members of the Poppyville town council. Sure enough, Dylan had accompanied Astrid. There were a few locals I recognized but didn’t know very well. Odell and Haley Radcliffe sat side by side on the bench by the north fence. Warren Perez stood by the front gate as if ready to bolt, and there was Trixie, right next to him.

  Surprise, surprise. Harris let her off work, but not Maggie.

  A flare of anger at my ex ignited for a few seconds, but I pushed it away. This was supposed to be about Eureka, not how easily Harris could drive me nuts.

  Mayor Ward moved from one group to another, a sad look on his face. It was an opportunity to glad-hand, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Like the council members, he’d come to know Eureka during her fight to start up Heritage House. His wife, Zoe, broke away as he went to talk to someone else, and I watched as she went to the trellis of sweet peas, drew a few blooms toward her face, and took a deep whiff. Her shoulders dropped a fraction, and I imagined the tension draining from them. I could only hope the saffron, thyme, and lavender I’d given her had helped her sleep better.

  Detective Max Lang stood alone by the oak tree, blatantly surveying the scene. When I looked around, I saw Lupe standing up by the corner of the shop, nearly as far away from him as she could get. I gave Ritter’s arm a squeeze, then sidled over to her.

  “Hey.” She didn’t look at me but continued to scan the crowd.

  “See anyone acting suspicious?” I asked, half teasing.

  “Trixie doesn’t want to be here,” she said, utterly serious. “I get the feeling Warren wanted to come, and she didn’t want him here alone.”

  “She’s waitressing at the Roux,” I said.

  Lupe turned to look at me. “Really?” Then she looked back at her. “Huh.”

  “Did you find out anything about their finances?” I asked.

  Her lips pursed.

  I waited.

  “Let’s just say that inheriting a house sooner than later would give a much-needed boost to their bank account,” she finally muttered.

  Short on details, but it was enough t
o know Eureka’s nephew and niece-in-law had a motive for killing her.

  “The will?” I asked.

  “We checked with the attorney, and Maria was right. Eureka left her house to them. Trixie will probably be quitting her job at the Roux pretty soon.”

  “And maybe going to prison. In which case they can’t benefit from Eureka’s death, right?”

  “Well, there’s that.”

  Harris would be so disappointed.

  “You check into that guy?” I asked, pointing with my chin to where Dylan stood with his arm around Astrid.

  “He’s on the list, along with everyone else that was here from out of town during the ceremony,” she said.

  “But he’s here right now.” I couldn’t keep the frustration out of my voice. “And he has a record. Well, sort of.”

  Lupe frowned at me. “It you’re talking about his arrest for trafficking in stolen goods, we know all about it. He cooperated with the district attorney and wasn’t charged.” She tipped her head. “Why are you getting involved with this, Ellie? We’ve got it under control.”

  I didn’t answer. “Where’s the chief?” I asked as if I were changing the subject, but we both knew I wasn’t.

  “In a meeting,” she said shortly.

  “Another one, huh. Okeydoke.” Then I nodded toward the Radcliffes, who were talking with the mayor now. “What about him?”

  The detective’s lips twitched. “What about him?”

  “Lupe,” I growled.

  A subtle shake of her head, then she relented. “He was in his suite at the Hotel California during the time of the murder. His daughter was there, too.”

  “She seems kind of lonely, though she and her father are obviously close.”

  “Her mother is deceased,” Lupe said.

  “I know. Died when she was a little girl, just like mine did.” I sighed. “But I had my stepmother to take me shopping and show me how to use makeup and give me advice.” I gave a little laugh. “Whether I wanted that advice or not. Still, I don’t think Haley had anyone like that. I mean, look at her.”