"You said that same thing about the blue dress I wore last Saturday." I sat down, scooted my chair across the rustic red tile floor of the restaurant and smoothed my dress down on my lap.
"Then maybe it's just the model that's my favorite." Briggs had pulled on a dark green t-shirt and black jeans. I loved him in his detective suit, but casual Briggs was also a treat.
He pulled out a chair across the round table. The quaint cozy interior of Mama Jean's Italian Restaurant was dotted with tiny tables that were lit with overhead pendants that cast a warm glow over everything. The larger tables and booths for families and large groups were in a separate room, but the front room was used for couples and parties of two.
William, a tall, elderly man, who was slightly hunched from years of carrying food trays, was our usual server. "Ah, Lacey and James, good to see you," he said with the fake accent he'd created during his twenty-five years of serving pasta and bread for Mama Jean. (William had grown up in Oklahoma.) The name Mama Jean and the copious amounts of butter slathered garlic bread being passed around the restaurant in wicker baskets made one picture the chef-owner as a short, round gray haired Italian grandmother. But in reality, Mama Jean was a tall, statuesque woman with gray streaks that only added to her sophisticated appearance. She had spent her first ten years growing up on a vineyard in Italy, then her father moved everyone to America. She returned to Europe to train as a chef and then brought her amazing culinary skills back to the states. We were the lucky recipients of her talents.
"The usual bottle of wine?" William asked.
Briggs looked to me for approval.
"Sure. I've had a long day, and it sounds relaxing." I picked up the menu, even though I was pretty sure I was going to order the mushroom ravioli.
Briggs didn't even bother to open his. He'd mentioned Mama Jean's lasagna at least three times on the drive to the restaurant.
I put my menu down as William returned with the wine. He poured us each a glass. "Looks like you're ready to order."
"Mushroom ravioli." I collected the menus.
"Lasagna."
William nodded. "I'll be right back with the garlic bread and salad."
I sat up and placed my napkin on my lap. "Tell me all about the case."
"So much for relaxing over a glass of wine." Briggs unfolded his napkin.
"I wanted to fill the gap of time between now and when the basket of bread lands on the table. After that, I'll be too dizzy headed with the scent of garlic and melted butter to comprehend what you're saying." The restaurant itself had enough fragrances to push a person with my nose into a semi-conscious state. Fortunately, I'd been in Mama Jean's so often I knew what to expect and had adjusted my nose accordingly. Plus, there was such a plethora of aromas, onions, tomatoes, garlic and oregano, that each one sort of muted the other giving my olfactory cells a fighting chance to sort them all out and put them on mute.
Briggs finished a light laugh over my dizzy headed comment. "Something tells me you know more than me," he started. "However, I do have the advantage of forensics reporting to me first. A rarity these days." He finished with a pointed look. "The knife had Mason's blood on it. As expected, the handle of the knife had been wiped clean of prints. The blade matches the chest wound. It punctured his heart and killed him fairly quickly, some time between eleven and twelve-thirty in the afternoon. He wasn't dead long before his half hidden body was discovered. Some light bruising under his arms indicated just as we expected. The killer dragged Mason from the tree where he was stabbed to the shrub in an apparent botched attempt to hide the body."
"Was there a struggle?" I took another sip of wine and glanced impatiently around for William and the bread basket.
"No, which leads me to believe the killer knew Mason, possibly stopped to talk to him before unexpectedly plunging the knife into his chest. The blade was forced in and up, which of course does terrible damage. That means the person—" he started.
I put up my hand. "Wait, let me see if I know. The person was either much shorter than Mason, hence the upward thrust." I demonstrated briefly. "Or the person knew that the upward thrust would do more damage than straight in."
Briggs smiled. "Well done."
I sat forward with a sudden revelation. "Which means Nora might have done it after all." I knew I'd spoken too loudly, catching the attention of others, and instantly shrank back and pressed a finger to my lips. "Oops," I said around my finger. "What about the binoculars? Any prints?"
Briggs shook his head. "Only Mason's. It seems they broke off while Mason was being dragged to the shrub."
Garlic streamed toward my nose, and my mouth watered in anticipation of the yummy bread. William lowered the basket onto the table. "I put in a few extra slices." He nodded at me before gliding away.
After a few silent seconds of feasting on the delicious bread, we returned to our conversation. "Nora hasn't been crossed off the list," Briggs said. "While it's hard to find many people in the bird watching group who considered Mason a friend, or for that matter, even worth knowing, I still haven't found any motive for wanting him dead. Other than the humiliation Nora endured in front of her bird watching buddies."
The door to the restaurant opened, allowing the last bits of daylight to stream in. Dash and his date flowed in with it, two highly attractive people made even more glorious by the early evening glow from outside the dimly lit restaurant.
The woman on Dash's arm looked like a Tiffany with honeyed highlights in light brown hair and round, blue eyes. Together, they were extraordinary enough to turn a few heads in the restaurant. As much as I loved seeing Dash, I crossed my fingers that the hostess would sit them far enough away that Dash wouldn't spot us at our little table in the shadows. Even though they'd put some of their differences behind them, Briggs was still never happy to see my neighbor.
That same neighbor's bright white smile gleamed in the dimly lit room as he spotted me with a buttery chunk of bread between two fingers. He waved and I lifted my bread in toast.
Briggs caught the gesture. "Who are you showing your bread to?" He glanced back over his shoulder and spun back toward me with a less amused grin. "Oh, I see."
Dash's smile had faded too. Naturally, the hostess led them right past our table. It would have been more awkward for us not to greet each other, so Dash paused. "Evening, neighbor." He gave Briggs a cursory glance. "Briggs."
"Vanhouten," Briggs muttered back with the least energy any person could use in a greeting.
Dash placed his hand behind his date's back. "Lacey, James, this is Tiffany. Lacey is my neighbor. She owns a flower shop in Port Danby."
Tiffany's eyes sparkled. "Is that where the beautiful bouquet came from? Nice to meet you."
"You too," I said. "Glad you liked the bouquet. Seems as if Dash knew exactly the flowers to pick."
"Did you get a chance to talk to the bird watchers up at the Hawksworth place?" Dash's question snapped Briggs to attention. I could feel the heat of his questioning stare on my face as I talked to Dash.
"Yes, thank you for letting me know you saw that van head up the hill," I said.
Just then, the restaurant door opened and my stomach sank. It seemed our relaxing dinner was going to come with its own splash of drama. Kate Yardley, the stylish, confident owner of the Mod Frock Boutique walked inside. She was also Dash's ex-girlfriend, although Kate hadn't really swallowed that notion fully. It didn't help that Dash occasionally still went out with Kate. Tonight, she had a new boyfriend, one of many, so many I found myself rarely bothering to remember their names. He was a tall, broad shouldered guy with slightly greasy hair and a face where all the features seemed just a little too close together.
Without alerting Briggs or Tiffany, I discretely managed to tap my toe against Dash's. He glanced at me. I sent a mostly invisible head tilt toward the door.
Dash looked toward the door. I was sure I heard a quiet groan. "Well, we won't interrupt your dinner. Looks like Lacey is enjoying that bread," Dash added with a chuckle
before briskly moving Tiffany along toward their table. It seemed they would be seated just three tables away. Our quiet dinner alone was feeling far less romantic.
I'd hoped a crisis had been averted when Dash took Tiffany to the table and out of Kate's view, but the woman had a sixth sense when it came to Dashwood Vanhouten. When the hostess tried to steer Kate and her date to a table near the front door, she said something and waved her hand toward the back of the room where Dash and Tiffany were sitting. Kate also made a point to stop at our table to say hello.
Kate and I were on seemingly friendly terms, only I wasn't altogether certain. Occasionally, she was cold and aloof, and other times, she spoke to me as if we'd been best buddies since grammar school. Apparently, this evening, it was the latter.
"Lacey, James," she said with gratuitous cheer. "This is Marcus." She lightly tapped Briggs on the shoulder. "I hope I can call you James when you're with my friend, Lacey." Kate had a unique and enviable sense of style. I loved everything she wore. She was like a chameleon. She could change her hair color and makeup style to suit her clothes, and it was always exactly right. This evening she had an adorable pink beret pulled over auburn hair. Her bangs were long and fringy and nearly clashed with the extravagant fake eyelashes she was sporting. Her green leather mini skirt was paired perfectly with a black and white checked tank top. And she was wearing her signature shiny white go-go boots. She pretended to look nonchalantly to the back of the restaurant, but it was easy to see right through her strategy.
"Oh my gosh, Dash, you're here too?" Her sing-song voice carried through the restaurant catching everyone's attention. She waved long, pale pink nails his way. Dash waved quickly back before hiding behind his menu. His tall physique fidgeted in the dining chair. Briggs was holding back a grin. It seemed seeing Dash squirm had added a little spark back to his evening.
Seemingly bored of her good friend, Lacey, Kate dragged her somewhat reluctant date off to greet another good friend. Dash looked as if he was ready to crawl under the table, but he forced a smile and introduced Tiffany to Kate.
William returned to our table with the food, but it was hard not to focus on the evening's entertainment.
"Poor Dash," I said quietly as I picked up my fork.
"Yeah, poor Dash," Briggs repeated, only he was wearing a grin when he said it. I told myself it was because he finally had that dreamed about plate of lasagna sitting in front of him, but I was kidding myself.
I heard Kate's forced gracious laugh finally disappear as she had to reluctantly sit at her own table. It was a few tables over from Dash's, but I was under no illusion. Dash's dinner date had just been obliterated.
Briggs enjoyed a few bites, struggling with a strand of unbreakable cheese both times. He finally took a second to breathe. "Are you going to tell me about your excursion up to Hawksworth manor? Why is it whenever I end a conversation with 'stay out of danger', you head straight toward it."
I waved a fork impaled ravioli at him. "Maybe you should stop saying it," I suggested. "Besides, there was no danger. Dash came in to buy flowers. He mentioned he saw the bird watching van heading up Myrtle Place toward the Hawksworth property. I decided it was my opportunity to talk to a few of the members to find out which direction they were leaning on the possible killer. All binoculars point to Nora," I said before he could ask. "I did learn of one other incident between Nora and Mason. I didn't get to witness it firsthand this time, but according to a few people at the lunch in Mayfield Park, Mason teased and made fun of Nora while she was eating her sandwich. She got up and left the park after that. Unless," I started.
Briggs peered up from his cheesy bite. "Unless she hid in the forest to carry out her plan to kill Mason."
"Exactly. Yet, I'm still not convinced she did it," I added.
"Me either." He plowed back into Mama Jean's towering lasagna, and I plucked up another ravioli.
"After this somewhat eventful dinner out, I could sure use an ice cream cone. Hopefully, things will be quieter at the ice cream shop," I said.
"What about the dish of spumoni that comes complimentary at the end of the meal?" Briggs asked.
"Spumoni, schumoni. I'm in the mood for butter pecan."
Briggs nodded. "I like a girl who knows what she wants. Butter pecan it is."
Chapter 24
I stared at the jumbo scoop of butter pecan. "This ice cream might have been too ambitious after a plate of ravioli and three pieces of garlic bread." I took a generous nibble and used my lips to warm my front teeth after the frosty bite. "Hmm, but it is delicious, and as Lola and I have concluded, there is always room for dessert because of the well known but rarely discussed dessert stomach."
"I'm not sure I'm aware of this dessert stomach." He took a bite of the green scoop of mint chip ice cream. "Yet, I downed an entire plate of lasagna and half of your ravioli, and I still have room for this ice cream."
"See, that's because of the elusive dessert stomach. We highly evolved humans have them, so there is always room for a cookie or brownie or ice cream cone."
Briggs and I carried our cones out to the benches on the sidewalk. The sun had set, but it was a balmy night, perfect for watching stars, eating ice cream and discussing murders.
"I don't know about you, but I could sense the thick tension in the air at Mama Jean's." I turned my cone to a side that had more pecans. "I wonder how things went after we left."
Briggs wasn't hiding his grin. "Don't know but I found it entertaining to watch Vanhouten squirm. Dash never squirms, so this was a first."
"Taking just a little too much glee in someone else's misfortune but I suppose he sort of deserves it. Just when I think he's had more than enough of Kate Yardley, I see them getting a hot dog on the wharf or sitting on his front porch chatting. He keeps giving her hope."
Briggs looked over at me. "Glad to see you have at least one negative thing to say about him."
I elbowed him, harder than expected. The scoop of mint chip almost rolled off. For a long time, it seemed Dash was interested in me as more than a friend and neighbor. It had only caused a sharper division between the two men who had started as high school friends and ended as enemies. Even though there could be no doubt left that Briggs was the one for me, I'd been permanently stuck in the middle of their squabble.
"I'm sorry I brought it up," I said. "Let's switch topics to one that is far more interesting. I'm trying to construct a timeline in my mind about the murder. It seems both Mason and Nora were at the picnic when it started but then they each took off for their own birding adventures."
"Or at least Mason did." Briggs was doing catch up on melted drips with his napkin and tongue.
"Right, Nora might have disappeared for an entirely different purpose than scanning the coast for Shearwaters."
"Shear-what?" he asked.
"Shearwaters. They're a coastal bird that is normally not seen until fall," I explained as if I actually knew what I was talking about.
"If they're not around until fall, why was she looking for them?"
"Apparently, with bird watching, it's all about spotting the rare or out of season bird. That's how Nora's whole mess got started. She claimed to have taken a photo of a rare bird, only she had stolen the photo from another photographer." I, too, was chasing the drips around my hand with a napkin. It seemed we were both going to end up a sticky mess. (Maybe a balmy night wasn't always perfect for ice cream.)
"My detective sense tells me that the person who killed Mason didn't steal the phone or camera because they were special or extra valuable. Something must have been on the devices. Something that might be valuable."
I nodded. "I agree. Mason told John he had captured an image of something. Too bad he didn't give his friend more details. It could have been helpful."
"It sort of makes me wonder why he was so cryptic about it, especially to his good friend." Briggs grunted and wrapped the remainder of his cone in the mostly sticky napkin. "I give up on this. It's strange to say, but i
t's too warm for ice cream."
I was also losing the battle against the dripping butter pecan. I joined him in putting my cone to rest by wrapping it in the napkin.
We threw away the mushy cones and headed back inside for a few more napkins. The kid scooping ice cream behind the counter had a good chuckle as we attempted to rid ourselves of the melted ice cream.
"Glad we made somebody's night," Briggs quipped as we stepped back out into the warm night air.
"I did my informal interviews up on Maple Hill this afternoon," I said as we headed back to his car. "Did you interview anyone except Nora after I headed back to work?"
We climbed into the car. "Most of the members had each other as alibis. Everyone was socializing and enjoying the picnic during the hours when Mason was killed. Most people had the same unpleasant opinion of the victim. Apparently, Mason Fanning was always starting arguments. A few people even saw him arguing with Andrew, the club president, the night before, at the convention."
"Oh really? People do seem to generally like and respect Andrew. What was the fight about?"
"No one seemed to know for sure, but Andrew had an alibi. After the sandwiches were eaten, he went off on a bird watching hike with the treasurer—"
"Minnie," I said.
He paused and smiled over at me. "Yes. Of course you knew that. The group also included a few members who were visiting from Germany. Those interviews were brief and a little jumbled, but they all confirmed they were together on a mid-lunch expedition. They were in the same area as the murder, but no one heard or saw a thing."
"That's pretty wild to think that a grown man was stabbed and dragged across the forest and no one saw or heard anything." I sat forward to get a better look at him while he was driving. "Unless—" I said.
"Unless what?"
"Unless it was a group effort. Mason was not liked. That is one fact about this case that we've confirmed over and over again. Maybe after the drama with Nora the night before, the entire club got together and said let's get rid of Mason." I sat back, satisfied with my theory.
Cornflowers and Corpses Page 11