"I'd say we could stand here all day and list them and still never know for sure. Maybe Vincent will come up with it. But now, it's time to go talk to Twyla."
Chapter 32
The rain had dampened everything. Most of the bloggers had packed equipment and supplies up the night before. Today was just left for banners and decorations. Yolanda had cleverly given a thirty percent discount on the booth if the person stayed Monday morning to help clean up their section of the fair. It seemed more than half of the people had gone for the discount.
Yolanda was in the town square in her rain boots, jeans and scarf helping pick up trash. Fortunately for Detective Briggs, the two bloggers of most interest had opted for the cheaper booth fee.
Twyla was stacking leftover paper food wrappers in a box as we approached. I let Briggs know that I'd stand somewhere else while he interviewed her. I also assured him, I'd stay within hearing distance. I'd come along with him this far on the case, I wasn't going to miss out when he finally nailed his suspect.
"Ms. Walton, it looks like you're just about ready to head out," I heard him say as I busied myself untying deflated balloons from a nearby tree.
"Yes, just about done here. Have they found out what happened to Marian yet?" she asked.
"Not yet, but we're working on it. And since you brought it up, I wonder if I can ask you a few questions."
Twyla's significant pause made me look their direction. It turned out she was just putting packing tape on a box. She combed back her red hair with her fingers as she straightened with the packing tape on her wrist like a clunky bracelet. "Sure thing."
"I was interviewing a few people at the hotel. It came to my attention that on the day of the murder, a woman with red hair and butterfly tattoos on her arm walked up to the front desk and asked which room Marian was staying in."
I could feel my ear twitching like a horse ear, trying to turn in the direction of the conversation so I could catch every word of her response. But her answer was much simpler and more straight forward than I'd anticipated.
"Yes, I went to the hotel to look for Marian," she said as if she was just shooting the breeze with a friend.
"Why were you looking for her room?" Briggs asked.
"I went there to apologize." I heard some shuffling of canvas and glanced back to see Twyla rolling up her banner. She stopped with the banner rolling when Briggs placed his hand on it to let her know he needed her full focus.
She sighed audibly. "The night of the dance, I had a little too much to drink. I went off like a madwoman telling Marian that she should be ashamed and that she stole my recipe. The next day, after my head had cleared, I regretted my behavior. I couldn't look at her all day during the fair I was so embarrassed. I decided to give the old biddy an apology. I'm sure it's something she has never done in her life, so I figured even though she stole my recipe at least I could show her I was the better human. And the better baker but that's beside the point."
"I see. Did you make it up to her room? Did you get a chance to apologize?" Briggs asked.
I was out of balloons.
"Lacey, yoo hoo, Lacey," Yolanda called across the way. "I could use some help getting balloons down on this side."
I waved. "There's still a lot of things to do over here." Her loud call drew everyone's attention for a moment, which worked in my favor. That way I didn't miss Twyla's answer. I looked quickly around for some other task and discovered that there was trash behind the tree. I skirted around the trunk, contorting my head and neck to listen in.
"No, the woman at the desk refused to give me the room number. I left the hotel and decided to apologize before the fair opened on Saturday. That never happened, obviously."
"Did you know about Marian Fitch's peanut allergy?" Briggs asked the question that I'd had on my lips. It was as if our minds were connected.
"Everyone who knew her, knew about it. It was severe enough that she had to take precautions to not be too close to peanut products. I'll be honest, sometimes I think my subconscious told me to start cooking with peanut butter just because I hated Marian so much. But I would never kill her." She laughed dryly. "I walk around trails of ants because I don't want to hurt them."
"Thank you. I won't take up any more of your time. Except one more thing. Have you ever tasted any of Marian Fitch's special creamer? She talked about it quite often on her blog."
"Creamer? What creamer? I never read her blog."
"Thanks again. I'll let you get back to cleaning up."
I tossed the trash I was holding and hurried to catch up to Detective Briggs. "Well, does your honesty radar think she was telling the truth?" I asked.
"I would say yes. It seems I'm heading back to square one. And after the early start, I think I need another cup of Lester's coffee to get my head thinking straight again. Do you need a lift back home to get your car or bike or bird before you open the shop?"
"That would be lovely. I'm just going to change and put Kingston in the car. Then I'll stop by and grab a coffee with you at the Coffee Hutch. My head needs a little clearing too. Maybe with both of us pumped on caffeine some of this will fall into logical sense, and we can figure out just what happened to Marian Fitch."
Chapter 33
It seemed I was going to be a little late opening my shop. The first thing I was going to do this week was get serious about finding someone to help in the store. It was nice being the owner and executive decision maker, but it wasn't so great being the only employee. Hiring help had always been part of my business plan, but I was going to wait until things got moving. Fortunately, things got moving fast. I needed to move up that part of my plan and make it a priority. It would be nice to know I had someone to cover if I was in bed with a flu or busy at a florist workshop. Or helping on a murder case.
Kingston had been antsy on the car ride. He normally stood on the top of the back seat watching out the side windows, but this morning he'd posted himself right up front on the edge of the passenger seat. I'd had little time for him the day before, and the weather had kept him at home on his perch.
I pulled up to the shop. The second I opened the passenger door, he flew out and soared over the trees to stretch his wings.
Detective Briggs was sitting at one of Lester's tables drinking a coffee. I quickly glanced in the direction of the bakery and saw that Elsie had two tables full of customers. Lester did too. The past weekend had been so busy, neither of them had been outside rearranging tables or adding luxury items like plush pillows to their outdoor patios. Lester hadn't brought up the centerpieces either. Maybe things had cooled off in the table competition. Fingers crossed that they had.
Before I'd even reached the table where Briggs sat, Lester poked his head out the door to get my attention.
"Any chance you'll have those fall centerpieces for my tables in the next few days, Lacey?"
Fingers officially uncrossed. "I'll get to work on those today, Les."
He waved and disappeared back into his shop. I had hoped that he'd forget the centerpieces for one big reason. Elsie wasn't going to be happy about them. But now that I'd seen his enthusiastic smile, I needed to make some nice centerpieces for Lester. I'd let Elsie know ahead of time, just to avoid a calamity.
Detective Briggs hopped up and pulled out my chair. I thanked him. He was truly a gentleman. It made me wonder what woman was silly enough to give him up. Or maybe it had been the other way around. No one seemed to know the details of his brief marriage. Not even Lola or Elsie, who between them knew just about everything there was to know about the locals.
Briggs pushed a cup of coffee toward me. "Lester said you like the mocha lattes. I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty to order you one. Or if you'd like something else I could get that."
"This is fine. Thank you." I took a sip of the coffee. It hit the spot. It had been a long morning, and the day had just begun.
I noticed Briggs had his notebook out on the table. He caught me glancing at it and placed his hand
on it.
"I was going over all the physical evidence Pritchett and her team found at the scene. There is so little to go on. The one tangible piece of evidence was that lavender hand lotion you detected, but that made just about everyone at the fair a suspect. Otherwise, it was a clean crime. Marian was at her manicure appointment when the call for coffee was made from the room. A female called from the suite, and that female is our perpetrator."
He flipped open his notebook and stopped. "I don't want to take up any more of your time, Miss Pinkerton. I appreciate all your help with this, but I know you have a business to run."
"It's fine. I opened yesterday for a few hours. After the busy weekend, today will be slow. Especially for flowers. Go on." I motioned toward his notes.
"The woman had to know about the peanut allergy and Marian's special creamer."
"And that could have been anyone who read her blog." I sat up straighter. "Which reminds me. Bold italics."
Briggs squinted an eye as he looked at me over his coffee cup. "Did you just say bold italics?"
"Yes. I forgot to tell you this. That whole thing with Parker meeting that man and handing him an envelope of money pushed this detail out of my head, but it might be important. When I was perusing Marian's blog looking for clues, I noted that one frequent commenter was particularly nasty and negative toward Marian. Of course, every blog and site has its trolls, but this person seemed to loathe Fitch and her entire Sugar Lips brand."
"Sour grapes?" he asked.
I pointed at him. "You noticed her too."
He nodded. "She even took the time to leave a negative review on Marian's cookbook."
I sat back with a proud grin. "I'm thinking just like a detective. So you noticed the font too?"
"Font? What font?"
"Bold italics. It's unusual to see both. Yes, some people use bold because they want to make a point or possibly because they have an inferiority complex. I mean whoever really knows the true psychological source behind the bold type user. And some people use italics because it adds a bit of flare to the words. So if you write something rather dull and pedestrian, the italic font makes it look more poetic. But bold italics you just don't see that often."
There was that amused half smile of his that I found very charming. "And what is your theory for the lack of people using bold italics? The rare combination of inferiority with the desire to be poetic?"
I laughed. "Nope. Just that it takes two steps to make bold italics. You have to click the B and the I."
He shook his head as the half grin developed into a full smile. "Just when I think I have the inner workings of your mind figured out, you throw me totally off track."
"Is that good or bad?"
"It's good. It keeps me on my toes. Something I need in this job." His phone rang, interrupting the light, mildly flirtatious moment.
He pulled it out. "Detective Briggs here." He sat forward to block out some of the noise from the seat. "Yes, Vincent, go ahead." He pulled out his pen with his free hand and scribbled something on the notepad. A somewhat amused expression followed. "Is that it? Thanks, Vincent. That helps. If there's anything else, just give me a call." He hung up. "Turns out when you're nineteen, Tom Petty is an old time rock and roll guy."
I laughed. "Let's not tell Tom that." And then it clicked. "Wait. Tom Petty? The Tom Petty?"
"Not sure if there's any other but yes, Tom Petty." He looked at his notepad. "The ringtone was from his song Free Fallin'. Please tell me that helps us solve this case because everyone is getting on airplanes and climbing into rental cars and the murderer is going along with them."
"Celeste Bower, the woman who lost out on the cookbook deal, was wearing a Tom Petty concert t-shirt the day she was setting up her booth. I accidentally overheard Dash and her talking about the concert. She was telling him that she and her sister were obsessed with his music."
"Figures Dash was there making small talk with all the women bloggers," he said unnecessarily to which I responded with the appropriate annoyed expression.
"We should probably hurry," I said.
"We?"
"I just gave you a major piece of the puzzle."
"Right. Let's go to the town square and see if we can find her. If not, Yolanda has a list of where people were staying. She gave me a copy, but it's in my office." He looked at his watch. Checkout is at eleven and it's ten now, so we might just catch Celeste before she leaves."
We rounded the corner onto Pickford Way and saw Yolanda helping to roll up a banner for the Sandwich Queen booth. Briggs and I hurried across to her.
"Mrs. Petri, may I see your list that shows where the fair participants are staying?"
Yolanda looked confused as she pulled the list out of her pocket. It had names, motels and contact numbers listed next to each participant's name. Good old overly organized Yolanda.
As Briggs scanned the list, I spotted Celeste just leaving the town square with a few boxes. I tapped his arm and motioned that direction.
My thought was to walk right up to her and ask about her ringtone, but Briggs did something that reminded me why I was still the amateur and he was the professional. He pulled out his phone and found the contact number for Celeste. Seconds later, a phone rang.
Celeste stopped, trying to figure out how to answer it with boxes in her hands. An air of letdown fell over us. There was no music ringtone just the standard cell phone ring. Celeste decided to ignore the call and continued on to the motel across the street.
Briggs handed the list back to Yolanda. "Thank you." I hated to hear the disappointment in his voice, but it looked as if we'd hit another dead end.
Chapter 34
I hadn't noticed that Kingston followed us to the town square until he swooped over head and landed in the branch of a tree. He seemed to be waiting for me to not be watching him, like a kid waiting for the path the cookie jar to be clear of Mom's view.
"Your bird seems to want your attention," Briggs noted.
"Actually, the opposite. He's up to something. I just haven't figured out what." We walked back toward his car. "Have you talked to Parker Hermann today? Is he still planning to fly out with his aunt's remains tomorrow?"
"I'm going to head over to the hotel right now to see if that can be delayed. Although, I'm sure it takes a good deal of planning to have a body transported to another state. I'm not looking forward to telling him that I haven't zeroed in on a suspect yet. And I'm equally not happy to have to let him know he's still on the list and that he may be called back for questioning at any time."
"Oh, Lacey," I heard Yolanda's upset tone from behind. "Your bird just knocked over a trash can."
"Guess my crow just made a beeline for the unguarded cookie jar."
Briggs' brow line crinkled. "What?"
"Just a metaphor I use to describe my bird being naughty." Kingston's wings flapped in excitement as he pulled some trash free and nibbled at some treat he'd managed to find. "I don't want to keep you, Detective Briggs. I'll walk back to the shop."
"I'll let you know what else I find," he said.
I hurried over to the mess on the grass.
The booth was still standing, but it was free of banners and decorations. But from its placement in the square, I knew it had been Celeste's booth. "Not that stale flax seed again, Kingston. You're going to make yourself sick."
I shooed Kingston away and turned back to the mess on the grass. I leaned down to pick up some of the debris. I caught a whiff of something foul. And yet, it was oddly familiar. I picked up some of the discarded seeds and held them to my nose. I winced at the odor. "Dead fish dipped in old paint," I mumbled to myself.
I stood and waved at Kingston. "Go to the shop now."
Kingston looked longingly at the spilled seed for a second and then flew off. I ran toward Briggs' car. He was just about to pull away from the curb.
"Stop, Briggs, I have something. Stop!"
The brake lights went on and the motor turned off. He climbed out o
f the car, looking more than a little baffled.
I waved him toward the fallen trash. "Over here. This is it. I think I just found the smoking gun."
Briggs followed me to the spot where the seeds had been dispersed in the grass. "Remember that weird smell I noticed on the carpet of the hotel room?"
"I think you called it dead fish paint or something like that."
"Dead fish dipped in old paint. It's a very distinct, unpleasant odor that I had never smelled before. Until now." I reached down and picked up a few seeds for him to smell. He crinkled his nose.
"It smells funny, like oil gone bad."
"To you it's not that strong, but to me, it's enough to make my eyes water. This is what I smelled in the carpet in the hotel room. I'm sure of it. This was Celeste Bower's booth. The flax seeds were for her chickens. On the first day of the fair, I saw her throw the flax away because it was bad. Kingston tried more than once to get at the discarded seed."
Briggs' brown eyes lit up. "If it was in the grass all this time, then she had the smell on her shoes. She tracked the smell into the hotel room."
"Do you think we could go back and take a sample of the carpet. Maybe just a few fibers to double check?"
"I'll make sure of it." He pulled out his phone. "First, I need Officer Chinmoor to put caution tape around this area and have him collect evidence."
Yolanda looked weary and the pile of spilled trash wasn't making her happy. She marched toward us. I walked away from Briggs as he talked to Officer Chinmoor. I stopped Yolanda.
"Yolanda, I'm sorry about the trash spill, but Detective Briggs needs it to stay right there. He's calling Officer Chinmoor right now to tape it off and collect evidence."
"Evidence?" she huffed in disbelief.
"Yes, it's too early to say anything, but you'll have to just ignore this part of the square. Let me say though, Yolanda, you did a spectacular job with this fair. Truly. No one could have done a better job." My flattery was actually the truth. She had done a stellar job, and my words put a big smile on her face.
Carnations and Chaos (Port Danby Cozy Mystery Book 2) Page 14