"Thank you, Lacey. That's nice to hear. I'll let Detective Briggs get back to his police business then."
Briggs hung up as I returned to where he was standing. The black and white patrol car pulled up. It helped that the police station was only two blocks away.
"Good news and bad news," Briggs said. "Mr. Trumble said no one stayed in the suite after all, so we can get in there and cut a few fibers from the rug."
"The bad news?"
"I called the motel to tell them to let Celeste Bower know that I needed to speak to her. They said she'd already checked out. They gave me the color, make and plate for her van. I'm going to give highway patrol a call on our way to the Mayfield Hotel." I followed along with him.
"Unless you need to go, Miss Pinkerton."
"Are you kidding? We're getting close now. I'm sticking to you like a barnacle on a ship's hull until this is solved."
Chapter 35
We were running against the clock. There was still no word from highway patrol that Celeste had been found. But Detective Briggs wasn't too worried. She'd be easy enough to track down if there was evidence to do so. And my gut, or at least my infallible nose, was saying there would be.
Mr. Trumble met us as we walked into the lobby. He had a key to take us up to the room. We stepped into the elevator with him. He was a man who just never seemed comfortable in his own skin, as if any minor thing could set him off. I wondered how on earth he ran a large hotel with hundreds of employees.
"You're not going to damage the carpet, are you?" he asked. "Those suites were only recently remodeled. The hotel owners spared no expense on the carpet and furnishings."
Briggs pulled out the tiny pair of sterilized scissors that were packed in sterile packaging. "Just a few strands with the substance is all we need. You won't miss those fibers, I promise."
Something had occurred to me on the way up. "Mr. Trumble, housekeeping didn't clean the carpets this weekend did they?"
"With a carpet cleaner? No, that's only for stains. But the room was vacuumed and sanitized from top to bottom." His face smoothed with concern as he looked at Briggs. "You told me we could clean for the next guests."
"Yes, I did. And that's fine." The elevator stopped on the eighth floor. We stepped out. We followed the manager to the room. The maintenance cart happened to be sitting outside a room with an open package of light bulbs on top. It seemed light fixtures were being replaced. Sure enough, the master key was right on top of the cart.
"Uh, Mr. Trumble," Briggs said stopping the manager's hurried pace. He pointed at the key on the cart. The maintenance man was inside the room and out of view of his cart and the key. "Just thought I should mention that this is the second time I've noticed that the maintenance crew leaves the master key out in plain view."
Mr. Trumble looked down at the key and grew visibly paler. He plucked the key from the cart and shoved it into his pocket. Then he led us to Room 801 and opened it for us. "I'll let you do your work. I need to speak to my maintenance man."
We walked inside. I gave Briggs an admonishing look. "Tattle-tale."
"Hey, if it keeps hotel guests from being poisoned by peanut butter, it's a tale worth telling."
"Good point." We headed down into the sunken in sitting area where I'd smelled the flax seed on the carpet. I knelt down by the end table and put my nose closer to the carpet. I realized it was not the most ladylike position, especially with Detective Briggs standing nearby watching me, but there was no other way.
I sniffed around. The industrial vacuum cleaner had left every trace of odor, including its own metallic motor scent on the carpet. But as I moved my face a bit closer, I picked up a trace of the flax seed smell. "Here, cut these fibers." I pointed to the spot.
Briggs joined me on the floor.
He took out his gloves and the sterile scissors and carefully removed several fibers. He held them up for me to take one more sniff.
"Yep. Dead fish dipped in old paint."
He lowered the fibers into the bag. "Hopefully, they'll track down Celeste soon. I'll need her shoes for evidence." Briggs glanced down at the rug. "Hold on." He lowered his face and grabbed some tweezers out of his pocket. I watched as he tweezed something out of the carpet fibers. He put the nearly microscopic particle in another bag and held it up to the light.
"A flax seed?"
"Looks that way."
"So this was a win-win?" I asked.
"Looks that way." He pushed to his feet and then gallantly offered me his hand. Which I took. His grip was warm and strong and confident. Just what I expected.
I got to my feet and brushed off the carpet lint. "Where to next?"
"Back to town. Maybe by then, I'll have gotten word from highway patrol. Celeste couldn't have gotten too far."
Mr. Trumble was just finishing his angry lecture to the maintenance man as we walked past. He joined us at Briggs' request.
"Mr. Trumble, I'll probably be taking official statements from some of your staff this week, including you. I just wanted to give you a heads up."
"Of course. Whatever you need. Did you find out who killed Ms. Fitch?"
"Possibly. But don't let Mr. Hermann know anything yet. I need to confirm some things first. Then I'll speak to him."
"Naturally. That was fast. Only four days," Mr. Trumble said as he pushed the button on the elevator.
"Really?" Briggs sighed. "Felt like an eternity to me."
As I sat down in the passenger seat of the car, a voice came through the fuzzy sounding speaker on the dash. I wasn't well versed in official police speak, but it sounded as if they'd stopped Celeste before she'd gotten on the highway.
Briggs climbed into the driver's seat and picked up the radio. The officer on the other end repeated what he'd said. Briggs replied with 'Roger. Over and out'.
"They stopped her just a few miles from here. I hate to drag you along on an arrest, but if I head back to town first—"
"Are you kidding? Drag me along, please."
Briggs started the car and we pulled out onto the road. "As you've probably noticed, Miss Pinkerton, I'm not a big user of technology. I still prefer to keep my notes on paper."
"I might have noticed that." I'd leave out the part where I decided it was cute that he used pen and paper instead of a tablet. "Aside from basics on a computer and my cell phone, I'm not a technology user either."
"Then maybe you won't know the answer to this question. Is it possible to set a different ringtone for different callers? Say a certain song when it's someone you know well?"
I faced him. "Do you mean like a Tom Petty song when it's your sister, who also adores Tom Petty? Yes, that's entirely possible. I can't believe that didn't occur to me before."
"Nor me. I guess we are both a couple of old timers. Tom Petty is still cool to us and technological devices don't interest us."
"I suppose if we're going to work on these cases together," I continued on right past his amused grin. "Then one of us should learn more about technology."
All traces of the storm had passed and the sky was bright. Briggs pulled his sunglasses off the visor and put them on. "I don't know. It seems as long as we have that remarkable nose of yours with us, we'll do fine without the tech knowledge."
I knew my smile was ridiculously big, but I didn't care.
"The truth is, Miss Pinkerton, it would have taken a lot longer to solve this case if not for you and your hypero—" He looked at me for assistance.
"Hyperosmia. And thank you. Glad to lend my nose anytime." We passed a sign pointing to the Mayfield Cemetery, which reminded me of my trip to the Hawksworth family plot. "Detective Briggs, I visited the Graystone Church graveyard because that's one of the odd things I do in my spare time. I noticed there was an unmarked grave in the Hawksworth family plot. Do you know who is buried there?"
"There are several theories on that. None of them proven. You'd have to dig deeper to find the truth. I'm sure it's somewhere in the town records and newspaper storie
s. One theory is that Mrs. Hawksworth had a baby who died at birth. Another more scandalous explanation is that Bertram Hawksworth fathered an illegitimate baby with another woman and the baby died at birth. Choose your ending, I suppose."
"Was that grave filled before the family was murdered?"
"As far as I know. Hawksworth had purchased the plot for his family years earlier, but I'm sure he didn't expect them to fill it all at once. And obviously he was too important of man to be asked point blank about the unmarked grave."
I rubbed my chin. "Interesting."
He turned toward the highway on ramp. There were several police cars stopped along the side of the road behind and in front of a light blue van. I could see a fretful looking Celeste pacing alongside one of the squad cars, looking thoroughly angry and petrified all at once.
Detective Briggs parked his car behind the last squad car and got out. He talked to several of the officers before walking over to Celeste. I stepped out of the car but hung back, not wanting to tread on official police business. But I kept an ear turned that direction.
"I would like to know just what this is about," Celeste snapped. But there was a waver in her voice that couldn't be missed.
"Miss Bower, I'm going to start with something easy. How many sisters do you have?" Briggs asked.
"One. Why do you ask? Did something—"
"Your sister is fine. I just need you to text her and ask her to call you."
The traffic and the voices of the other policemen were drowning out too much of the conversation. It was my nose that had gotten us to this point. I decided I could move my talented smeller closer to the action.
Celeste pulled out her phone. It was easy to see that her fingers were trembling as she texted her sister.
"I demand to know why I'm doing this," she said.
"Two reasons," Briggs said in his usual relaxed tone. "I'll tell you the second one first. You'll need to talk to a family member to let them know that you are going to be delayed in Mayfield."
"What?" She glanced around at all the faces and sneered my direction just as her phone rang. It was Tom Petty's song Free Fallin'.
"That's the second reason I needed you to call your sister. Now answer it and let her know you won't be home today."
Celeste turned her face away and had a quiet, anxious conversation with her sister. She was close to tears by the time she hung up.
"Miss Bower, I need you to pull all your shoes out of the van."
"My shoes? This is getting crazy. I need to call my lawyer." Her face shifted from red to white to red again, all in a matter of seconds. It was hard not to feel some sympathy for the woman.
"My chickens," she said weakly, as it seemed to dawn on her that she had been caught.
Briggs turned to one of the officers. "Officer West, don't you have a farm out on Dawson Grove? Could you make sure Miss Bower's chickens are well cared for until her family can pick them up?"
"Of course, Detective Briggs."
Briggs followed Celeste to the back door of the van. The chickens clucked as Briggs helped her pull a large suitcase to the back. She opened it.
Moments later, Briggs walked over to me with three pairs of shoes, ankle boots, sandals and the running shoes he'd had Celeste slip off. "Do you mind, Miss Pinkerton?"
"Not at all." I sniffed each pair. "Both the sandals and the ankle boots have the flax seed smell."
He passed the shoes off to be marked as evidence and gave Celeste back her running shoes to put on.
Briggs waved over the female police officer to help before turning around to face his suspect.
"I wouldn't have even thought of it if Fitch hadn't made such a scene about being too close to my chickens and Twyla's peanut butter balls," she said quickly. "The old witch had it coming."
"Celeste Bower, you are under arrest for the murder of Marian Fitch."
"She ruined my chances. She destroyed my career," Celeste cried as the officer took over for Briggs.
"I'll get you back to Port Danby, Miss Pinkerton. There might even be time for you to sell flowers today," Briggs said with a smile.
"In between solving major crimes?"
"Yes." Another smile. Two in a row from Briggs was quite an accomplishment on my part. "Well done, Miss Pinkerton."
"Well done, Detective Briggs."
We climbed back into his car to return to Port Danby.
"Oh gosh, I just remembered my bird is loose in town. I hope he hasn't been terrorizing people. He's going to be angry at me for the rest of the day."
"And just what does that entail? How does a crow act when he's angry?"
"He'll sit on his perch and look the other way if I glance his direction. It's basically crow cold shoulder."
Briggs laughed. I could tell that having the weight of this case off his shoulders had taken some stress off of him. I was glad to see it and thought his lighter mood was a good opportunity to remind him about my Thanksgiving feast. The list had grown. Lester would be joining us as well. It seemed his firehouse friends had decided to deep fry a turkey this year and Lester hated to buck tradition. He wanted his turkey 'stuffed and roasted' like a turkey was supposed to be.
"Detective Briggs, my invitation for Thanksgiving still stands. And you don't need to bring a thing. Elsie and I will take care of everything. That is, unless you've made other plans in the meantime."
I realized I knew very little about his personal life other than he rode a motorcycle, he was once married for a brief time and he disliked my neighbor Dash.
He paused.
"That's all right, Detective Briggs. I'm sure you have family or other significant people to spend time with." I was so silly. It was entirely possible he had a steady girlfriend over in Chesterton. Although if he did, he certainly didn't bring her up much in conversation. Maybe she wasn't all that exciting to talk about, I decided quickly.
"Actually, my family is several states away. I have to work the next day, so I can't fly out to see them. It's been a few years since I had a good Thanksgiving feast. I'll be there."
"Great." I settled back against the seat with a satisfied smile. "All in all, a successful day."
Chapter 36
I didn't have quite enough table for five people so Lester brought his fold out card table. We covered it with one of Elsie's white linen table cloths. Lola brought some of her mom's best dishes, and I added my sample centerpieces to the table. They weren't really meant to sit on the same table together, but they looked just fine. And with Elsie's help in the kitchen, the house was bursting with delicious aromas. I had to control my sense of smell just to avoid falling into a dizzy spell from it all.
Nevermore hadn't left the kitchen all afternoon. Lola and I watched in amusement as the cat paced in front of the oven with his tail straight up in the air.
I took a sip of hot cider. "I think he's waiting for his bird to come out of the roasting pan."
"I can't blame him." Lola pressed her arm against her stomach. "I'm trying not to snack on those chips and veggies Elsie laid out. I'm saving room for the real food."
Elsie walked in from the living room. "The game has started, so we've lost Lester for awhile." Elsie ladled herself some spiced cider from the pot. "So do you think he's still coming?"
Lola straightened. "Who, Ryder?" she asked enthusiastically.
I tilted my head at her. "Why would my new employee, who doesn't even start until Monday, come to our Thanksgiving feast?" Lola was just a little too excited about my new assistant. I hoped it wasn't going to be a problem. Ryder had been so perfect for the position. It was almost as if he'd walked out of my help wanted advertisement.
"Who is Ryder?" Elsie asked.
"You haven't heard?" Lola waved her hand. "That's right. You've been swamped with holiday pie orders. You missed all kinds of good stuff while you were elbow deep in pie crust dough. Pink hired a new assistant." She sighed dreamily.
Elsie crooked a brow my direction. I nodded to assure her that, yes, Lola had
already set her sights on my new assistant.
"He was really too perfect to pass up," I said. Lola agreed readily. "I mean he's very qualified. He just moved back to Chesterton, his home town, after earning a horticulture degree with a minor in fine arts."
"And he's a musician in a band, and he has dark brown hair and blue eyes," Lola added unnecessarily.
"Yes," I quipped. "Those attributes were listed on my help wanted ad as well."
Elsie picked up a carrot stick and dipped it into the dressing. "He seems perfect. Not to sound harsh but why is a new college grad working in a flower shop?"
"He said he wants to earn money to eventually travel the world and study plants. So he's going to live at home and save."
"I'd love to travel the world," Lola said.
Elsie and I both looked at her. Elsie pointed out the obvious first. "Your parents invite you along on their adventures all the time, and you refuse to go."
"Yes, of course. I don't want to travel with them. But Ryder—now that would be different."
Elsie handed her a dipped carrot stick. "Here, eat something. Low blood sugar is making you silly."
The doorbell rang. Suddenly I was in silly mode too. My stomach did a strange little flippity-do. I smoothed my hair back.
"Maybe you should pinch your cheeks for some color," Elsie noted.
I lifted my hands and then realized she was teasing. I pulled off my apron and tossed it at her, before walking to the door.
Detective Briggs looked fine in his official attire, but he sure cleaned up nice when he dressed down. He had on a black sweater that accentuated his impressive physique.
He held out a bottle of wine. "I can't cook my way out of a can of soup, so I decided to play it safe."
I took the wine. "Wonderful. Thank you. Come inside, Detective Briggs. We've got some hot cider heating on the stove."
He walked into the house. "Since we're not on official business, I think it would be all right if you call me James."
Carnations and Chaos (Port Danby Cozy Mystery Book 2) Page 15