When her fingers grew tired and her legs needed stretching, Lia set her knitting aside, gave Daphne, who’d been dozing on the rug by her side, a light head scratch, and stepped outdoors for some fresh air. She was strolling along the row of blooming red azaleas that had been planted by the previous owner when a blue Impala pulled up in front of her neighbors’ house, and Sharon climbed out.
“Planning some gardening?” Sharon asked as she spotted Lia and veered in her direction.
“There’s nothing needed,” Lia said, “other than to pull a weed or two now and then. The Potters left me a perfectly landscaped yard.”
“They did plan it very nicely,” Sharon said. “And the low maintenance is great for most people. I, on the other hand, am someone who can’t simply let things be. I love to change, try new plants, and putter around a lot.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Lia said with a smile. “When something of mine dies, I’ll come to you for advice on a new one.”
“And if I ever take up knitting, I’ll know who to turn to. Not that I ever will. I don’t have the patience. By the way, are you on Twitter?”
“I am, but I don’t go there much. Why?”
“You might want to take a look at what that artist Joan Fowler has been posting.”
“Uh-oh. What kind of stuff?”
Sharon’s cell phone dinged, and she held up a hand as she checked her text. “Sorry, gotta deal with this. An appointment needs changing. Just go online,” she said as she tapped at her screen. “You’ll see.” Sharon walked away, and Lia headed back inside, dreading to find out what Joan had been up to.
Indoors, tantalizing aromas drifted from the kitchen while the music had changed to slow and soothing. Lia grabbed her phone and clicked her way into Twitter, then searched for Joan Fowler’s tweets.
#CrandalsburgCraftFair—terrible management! Craftspeople can’t create under such mess and stress. Many are looking for new outlets, including this artist. Stay tuned for updates.
Lia scrolled to the woman’s previous tweets. Several were highly critical of Belinda in one way or another, though thankfully they never accused her of a crime. The worst hinted darkly at a messed-up private life that had badly affected the Crandalsburg crafters. Lia was shocked. How could the woman post such off-base negativity, which would surely hurt herself as much as Belinda, along with the craft fair in general?
“Mom?” Hayley stepped out of the kitchen. “Brady will be here soon. Got a minute to set the table for me?”
“Of course, dear. Anything else?”
Hayley pulled her blond ponytail off her neck and fanned it. “Maybe check on the rolls in the oven. But they have a few minutes to go. Everything else is ready. You really should have a rice cooker, Mom. So much easier! I’m going to run upstairs and clean up.”
“Go ahead. I’ll take it from here.”
Lia briefly considered the table setting—her too-seldom-used china or the everyday dishes? But she already knew informality was the answer and would likely be more comfortable for Brady. She took a quick peek at the rolls before pulling out her plates, saw that they in fact needed more time, then peeked into the large pot on the stove to see chunks of various-colored vegetables mingling with pieces of chicken and an aromatic blend of seasonings. For a reluctant chef, her daughter had put together quite a meal!
She got to work on the table and within seconds of finishing heard her doorbell ring, then footsteps as Hayley clomped down the stairs, calling out, “I’ll get it.”
Lia went to the kitchen and, seeing perfectly browned rolls in her oven, slid them out. She transferred them to a napkin-lined basket, then went out to greet Brady, who looked different out of uniform and dressed in civvies: clean jeans and a tee. Hayley had changed to fresh shorts and a tee, both outfits fitting perfectly with Lia’s casual table, as she’d expected.
“So nice to see you, Brady,” she said as she joined them. “You’re just in time. Hayley’s dinner is ready to be served.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Geiger,” Brady said, running a hand over his red hair and trying unsuccessfully to smooth down a stubborn cowlick.
“Brady brought us wine,” Hayley said, holding up the bottle.
“I hope it’s the right kind,” he said.
“There’s no such thing as a wrong wine in my book,” Lia said. “Thank you, Brady. That’s very nice.”
The three got busy, Lia adding wineglasses to the table, Brady working on the cork, and Hayley dishing out her dinner, which she announced was chicken ratatouille, into serving bowls.
“Jessica’s mom gave us the recipe,” she said, referring to her roommate and looking quite proud of her achievement. She instructed that it should be spooned over the rice she’d made, once again bringing up Lia’s need of a rice cooker. That, plus the freshly baked rolls and Brady’s wine, made for what they all eventually agreed was an amazing dinner, Brady even asking—much to Hayley’s delight—for a second helping.
“Though I feel guilty,” Brady said. “I didn’t find out much about that phone call you asked about.”
“Well, in that case . . .” Hayley laughingly pulled back the dish she’d been about to hand him.
“We’re glad to have you just for yourself, Brady,” Lia said, offering him the rice bowl.
Hayley seconded that, then handed him the ratatouille after he’d spooned out the rice. “So, you didn’t find out much. What did you find out?”
“Only that the call Darren Peebles got that afternoon couldn’t be traced. It came from a disposable phone.”
Hayley wrinkled her nose. “Bummer!”
“Does that strike the investigators as suspicious?” Lia asked.
Brady nodded, his mouth full. After he’d dealt with it, he said, “But it could also mean nothing. It could have been just a spam call.”
“Except that Darren did speak with the caller, according to the man who was with him at the time, Todd Mullins. And he seemed pleased afterward.”
“Nobody answers a spammer,” Hayley said. “It must have been the murderer, who didn’t want to be traced.”
“Unfortunately, if that was the case,” Lia said, “it worked.”
The three contemplated that glumly for several moments; then Lia shared her distressing discovery of Joan Fowler’s recent tweets, explaining to Brady who both Joan and Belinda were.
“What a pain in the you know what that woman is, artist or not!” Hayley said.
“I have to agree,” Lia said.
“Why doesn’t Belinda just kick her out of the craft fair?” Hayley asked.
Lia shrugged helplessly.
“Has Belinda seen these tweets?” Brady asked.
“I don’t know. I just found out about them myself. I don’t even know if Belinda’s on Twitter.”
“Even if she isn’t, she’s bound to find out eventually, one way or another,” Hayley said. “And knowing her, it’s not going to end well.”
A second silence fell over the three until Lia clapped her hands briskly.
“Well, enough of that for now,” she said, looking from one to the other. “Dessert, anyone?”
Chapter 17
As Lia made coffee, Hayley brought out the sheet cake she’d also made, admitting it had come from a box mix. “It was all I had time for.”
“Box cake is my favorite kind,” Lia said. “I’m amazed at all you accomplished while I sat in my chair and knitted.”
Tom had once laughingly claimed that he realized their daughter had reached adulthood when she picked up the check for the first time at a family dinner out, which had happened when Hayley worked a summer job before her last year of college. But to Lia’s mind, being presented with an entire meal cooked by Hayley topped that. And if her daughter ever showed an interest in knitting, well, that would put Lia over the moon. But one thing at a time.
As Hayl
ey cut the cake, Daphne, who’d made herself scarce on Brady’s arrival, reappeared at his side, apparently having decided he was safe. More than safe, in fact, since after sniffing at his shoes for a few moments, she suddenly leaped onto his lap.
“Whoa!” Brady cried, startled.
“Daphne!” Lia scolded. “Just set her down, Brady,” she advised as Daphne rubbed her face against his and purred loudly.
“You’ve made a friend,” Hayley said, grinning. “Let me take her.” She pushed back her chair.
“No,” Brady said, “it’s okay.” He leaned back to evade more Daphne kisses. “I like cats.”
“Well, this one definitely likes you,” Lia said. Daphne settled down onto Brady’s lap, and Lia decided to let her be.
Hayley served the cake and, over Daphne’s continued purrs, described their trip to the alpaca farm, where they’d spoken with a former employee of Darren Peebles.
“You should have seen those alpacas,” Hayley told Brady. “So cute and so friendly! I just loved them. Anyway, Shelby said the atmosphere in Peebles’s office was really tense and that Peebles and his partner, Adam Mathis, argued a lot about money. Are you looking into Mathis? Does he have an alibi?”
“Um, it’s not me looking into anybody,” Brady reminded her. “But I’m a hundred percent certain everyone connected to Peebles is being checked out by the detectives on the case. The problem with having alibis is that the murder happened late at night, when most people are sleeping.”
“Or can claim to have been,” Hayley said.
“Is Mathis married?” Lia asked, wondering if a wife could verify where he’d been. “Or does he live alone?”
Brady shrugged.
“We should have asked Shelby that,” Hayley said. “Maybe we should go back.”
“She mentioned a woman named Charlotte, who is Mathis’s assistant,” Lia said. “According to Shelby, she got the brunt of Mathis’s temper when things went wrong. Maybe we could track her down and see what she can tell us.”
“How do we do that?” Hayley asked. “Shelby didn’t give us a last name.”
“Pratt.”
The two women turned to Brady.
“Her name is Charlotte Pratt,” Brady said.
“You know her?” Hayley asked.
“Sort of. I almost gave her a ticket once. For parking too close to a fire hydrant.”
“Almost?” Hayley prodded.
Brady flushed. “I felt bad for her. She was all flustered. Said their office copy machine was down, and she had been in a big rush to get to the office supplies place when she parked and never noticed the hydrant. Her boss, Adam Mathis, was apparently having a fit over some papers that needed to be copied. I’ve run into her a few times since.” He grinned. “She thanks me every time.”
“Where do you run into her?” Hayley asked. “I mean, where would we find her to talk to?”
Brady thought about that. “Mostly at the coffee shop. But she’s usually in and out pretty quick.”
“Probably picking up her awful boss’s special coffee,” Hayley guessed.
“That he wants stat,” Lia added. “I doubt she’d stop and talk to strangers, in a hurry or not.”
“I’ve also seen her after work at the park,” Brady said. “There’s a guy who runs a walk-on clinic at the tennis courts. I did one once myself. They’re cheap—ten bucks a pop—and you do drills for different shots. Maybe you could catch her there? It might be easier to strike up a conversation.”
Hayley brightened. “I’d love to do a tennis clinic! Wouldn’t you, Mom? Do you have a racquet I can use?”
“I hung on to my old one after I got a new one, not that I’ve used either for a while. I’m pretty rusty. Are these clinics for better players?” she asked Brady.
“All levels,” he assured her. “Terrell divides the group up if he thinks it’s necessary.”
“Okay, then,” Lia said, smiling. “That sounds like it’ll work. There’s nothing like doing a group activity that makes for easy conversation. Thanks, Brady.”
“I’d say you earned your dinner tonight,” Hayley said.
“And an extra piece of cake?” Brady asked.
“You got it!”
When it was time to leave, Brady peeled Daphne off his lap with some difficulty. After he set her down, she stuck to his heels as he headed to the door.
“Daphne, you can’t go home with Brady!” Hayley mock scolded.
Brady grinned. “I swear I didn’t load my pockets with tuna.”
“Maybe you remind her of Bob Beasley,” Lia said. “He and his wife, Jen, are her owners—I’m just a temporary. She probably misses him.”
“You’ll just have to come by a lot to visit,” Hayley teased, which brought a slight flush to Brady’s cheeks.
Lia picked up the flirty ragdoll cat to allow Brady to open the door and, holding tightly, bid Brady a pleasant good night as he made his exit.
* * *
* * *
The next day, Hayley got a call while Lia was in the kitchen. Lia could tell from Hayley’s tone that it wasn’t one of her friends and guessed it was work related. She was right. In a couple of minutes, Hayley walked into the kitchen, not looking particularly happy.
“I’ll need to go back.”
“To Philadelphia?” Lia folded the rooster-printed towel and set it down next to the sink.
“Uh-huh. Seems my grace period at work has ended.”
“Right away?”
“I can drive back tonight. I want to take that tennis clinic first and see what Charlotte has to say.”
“You won’t be too tired for a long drive?” Lia asked, then realized the silliness of her question. She—Lia—would be tired after an intense session of tennis drills. Hayley, who rose early to start her day with a jog, never seemed to run out of energy. A two- to three-hour drive was a drop in the bucket to her. “Have you made any decisions?” Lia asked, moving on to the more important question.
“Still thinking,” Hayley said, then grinned ruefully. “But I’m getting close.”
Lia gave her daughter a hug. “I’m sure you’ll make the best one for you. I’ll support whatever you decide.”
“Thanks, Mom. And don’t worry. I won’t do anything too foolish.”
Too foolish? Was that leaving the door open for kind of foolish? Lia didn’t want to go there.
Lia’s phone rang, and she saw it was Jen Beasley calling. She quickly swiped right and answered cheerily as Hayley wandered off.
Jen greeted her hesitantly. “Lia, I have a proposal for you, but I don’t want you to feel in the least obligated.” She paused. “How would you feel about keeping Daphne?”
“You mean for a few more days?”
“No, I mean for good.”
“Oh!”
“I know,” Jen rushed to say, “it’s asking a lot, so I’ll absolutely understand if you say no. We’ve discovered that Bob is allergic to her. Since she’s been gone, he’s felt so much better. No more headaches, sniffles, or sneezes. The doctor said the allergy must have snuck up on him gradually.”
“Goodness!”
“And it breaks our heart to have to part with her, but Bob’s well-being has to come first. I know how you and Daphne have always had a special connection, and that’s why I’m asking.”
“Daphne’s an absolutely wonderful cat, and I’ve enjoyed having her here. But . . .” A thousand conflicting thoughts rushed through Lia’s head, each clamoring for attention. “Can I think about this?” she asked.
“Of course. Take as long as you need.”
They shared a few more words about the next day’s meeting of the Ninth Street Knitters, then ended the call. Lia stared numbly at Daphne, who was grooming herself contentedly, unaware of the pending change to her life.
“What’s up?” Hay
ley asked, walking into the room and seeing Lia’s expression.
“Jen needs to give up Daphne. I get first dibs.”
“Wow! How come?” Hayley took in Lia’s explanation with a small frown, then asked, “You’ll take her, right?”
Lia looked at her daughter. “It’s a big commitment.”
“But we’ve had cats. You know all about taking care of them.”
“I also know about losing them,” Lia said. “When first Coco, then Misty died after being with us for seventeen years, it was awfully hard. I don’t know if I want to go through that again.”
Hayley gave her mom an understanding squeeze. “That must feel like the last thing in the world you want to face right now. But you could also think about all the good years that Daphne and you could enjoy together. She’s a young cat, isn’t she?”
“Around five, I think.”
“And she’s in good health.” Hayley stepped back. “But it’s your decision.”
Lia appreciated Hayley not pointing out that Daphne was obviously happy in Lia’s home and would have to go through a major adjustment should Jen have to settle on a perfect stranger to take her. Or be put in a shelter? Heavens! Surely Jen wouldn’t resort to that, but the thought was terrible.
Lia was definitely fond of the cat and had truly enjoyed having her around. But that had been when Daphne’s presence was considered temporary. Taking ownership meant taking on full responsibilities, things like vet visits and finding cat sitters for when Lia would be gone. But was that so hard?
As if on cue, Daphne finished her grooming and wandered over to Lia. She looked up with bright blue eyes, begging to be picked up, which Lia did, knowing it probably meant her downfall. She hugged the sweet cat and received a soft-tongued face lick in return.
That did it.
“Okay, you little temptress. You’re going to stay here.”
“Yay!” Hayley cried as Daphne purred.
Lia smiled. Now that she’d made the decision, it felt good.
Yes, a little bit worrisome, but mostly good. In fact, it felt darned good!
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