Addie handed her a balled-up tissue from her pocket. “Don’t worry, it’s clean.” She waited for Jeanie to compose herself. “My mother passed when I was very young, but I do understand. When my father was killed last year, I went through the same thing.” She took Jeanie’s hand in hers, gave it a light squeeze, and smiled. “Now, let’s start fresh. I’m Addison Greyborne, and it’s very nice to meet you, Jeanie Winslow.”
“Will you forgive me? I’ve just heard so much lately from so many different people that my head’s ready to explode, and I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“Of course I can, but there’s nothing to forgive. It’s just been a really bad time for you, and people like to stir things up—and sometimes enjoy making everything worse.”
“Yes, I see that now.” Jeanie dropped her tensed shoulders. “I’m just so confused. I don’t know if it was a horrible accident or if someone, like it suggested in the newspaper, killed her. She was a good person; everyone liked her. She . . . she . . .” Jeanie covered her face with the tissue and sobbed.
Addie placed her hand on the shaking woman’s shoulder, trying not to relive her own grief.
“I am sorry about doubting you based on gossip.” Jeanie dabbed her reddened nose.
“We all, including that reporter, have to wait to see what the autopsy shows and stop jumping to conclusions.”
Jeanie nodded and sniffled. “But why did the paper report you were taken in for questioning then?”
“I wasn’t.” Addie shifted. “Marc and I are just friends.” The word “just” burned in her throat. “We crossed paths in another investigation.”
“I remember hearing about that.”
“Yes, and last night he only wanted my opinion on something, and, well, I just happened to be there. Nothing more.” Her mind raced to an image of Lacey, and her heart sank at that apparent truth.
“Well,” Jeanie said as she stood up, “if I can answer any questions for you, please give me a call.” Jeanie held out her hand. “And again, please forgive me.” She turned toward the storeroom doorway. “I better go. I have some arrangements for my mother to make this afternoon.”
“Jeanie, wait.”
Jeanie stopped and turned back.
“Did your mother carry a cell phone?”
“Yes, always. I even gave her an expensive case on her birthday.” Her eyes dropped. “But the police said it wasn’t with her, and I can’t figure out where it would be.” She looked at Addie, her eyes filled with renewed tears. “She loved that case. It was a pink pearl tortoiseshell design. I bought it for her in New York City.” She dabbed the tissue to her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” Addie stood up, rubbing her hand up and down her arm. She bit her lip. “There is one more question.”
“Sure, what?” she sniffled.
“I found an article on the Internet that your mother wrote some years ago. It was about a tunnel system built during the sixteen hundreds to eighteen hundreds under what is now the Greyborne Harbor town site, but I don’t remember seeing that information mentioned, at least in detail, in her published book. Do you know anything about it?”
Jeanie shook her head. “Not really. I do remember when she first wrote the book she was spitting mad one night after a town council meeting because they had objected to some of the facts she had in her original manuscript and forbade her to publish them. I remember her ranting on about censorship, but that’s all. She didn’t mention anything specific.”
“Why would she have shared her unpublished work with the town council?”
“They had given her a grant to write it—something about boosting tourism or something? I don’t really remember.”
Addie tapped her finger on her chin. “Okay, sorry to keep you. I was just thinking out loud.” Addie smiled as Jeanie turned to leave. “If you do think of anything else, please let me know.”
“I will.” She called back as she made her way through the shop. The door chimes rang, and Jeanie was gone.
Addie scowled and raced to her computer on the front desk and clicked open the article. She reread it, jotted down some notes, pressed print, and grabbed June’s book from under the counter. Her eyes widened as she flipped through the pages.
“Is everything all right?” Paige glanced over at Addie from the bookshelf she was organizing. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost or something.”
Addie shut the book and her gaping mouth. “Not a ghost, but . . . I think I did find something. I need you to watch the shop for a few more minutes before you go for lunch.” She grabbed her purse and jacket. “I won’t be long,” she called back as she headed out the door to share her findings with one of the few people she could trust.
Chapter Seven
Addie flung the door open and stopped. Serena’s shop was the busiest she had ever seen it. There were tables and chairs cramming most of the floor space typically reserved for the sale racks, teapots, various tea strainers, and cup displays. Which were now neatly arranged in the wall cubbies alongside the silver tea bags of SerenaTEA’s most popular blends.
The buzz of conversation ceased when all eyes in the shop came to rest on her standing in the doorway. She nodded and smiled as she passed many familiar faces, and the ones she recognized as being her loyal daily coffee group averted their eyes as she made her way toward Serena at the back counter. “I see business has picked up.”
Serena spun around, splashing tea over the tray she was preparing. “Yes, I’m swamped today. Can you believe this?”
“What happened? Are you holding a fire sale or something?” Addie laughed, looking around the tea shop. “This is wonderful. Whatever made you decide to add tables?”
“Actually, it was—”
“Hello, Addie.” Lacey appeared in the doorway to the back room, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. “Come to congratulate Serena on her very successful grand reopening?”
“Her reopening?” Addie looked questioningly at Serena.
“Didn’t you see the announcement in the paper this morning?”
“I must have missed it.” She met Lacey’s icy smile with a frosty one of her own.
“I’m not surprised, given that piece in the column today,” said Serena, resetting her tea tray. “I’ve been meaning to pop in all day, but as you can see . . .” She shrugged and headed toward a table.
“Serena, there’s a few other orders for you to take back there in the corner.” Lacey turned on her heel and headed back through the storeroom door beside the counter.
Addie moved closer to the door and peered in. Lacey drew up a chair, took a sip of tea, pulled a newspaper off a crate, and began thumbing through it.
She slowly looked up, her waxed brows cocked at an odd angle. Or maybe they were penciled on. Addie could only hope they were. “Is there something I can do for you, Addie?”
“No thanks, I was going to grab an apron and give Serena a hand out here, but I see she has plenty of help already.” She looked over her shoulder at Serena hopping from table to table, her face damp and flushed.
“Yes, she does.” Lacey sipped from her steaming cup. “You should probably hurry along back”—her hand made a shooing gesture—“to your shop now. I’m sure you’re swamped, too.” She chuckled and kept reading the newspaper.
“Did I just overhear that you’re crazy busy today, too?” Serena chirped behind her.
Addie pulled Serena toward the front door. “Is she your new partner or boss?”
“Oh no, but none of this would have been possible without her. Just yesterday, she came up with the idea for me to add the tables, and then she immediately put the ad in the paper. She’s been such a big support today. She even dropped off these tables and chairs for me to set up this morning. I really couldn’t have done it without her.”
“I can see just how much support she is.” Addie glared at the storeroom doorway. “You say she only came up with the idea yesterday?”
“Yes, she said the idea just came to her, an
d she thought this would be the perfect time to relaunch my shop.” A new customer waved Serena to a table. “I’d better go, but I must say I’ve missed her and her big-city ideas. She was right, just look at this place. I can’t keep up.” Serena turned and dashed over to the new party of four.
“Too bad she’s not helping with the increased work, too,” mumbled Addie as she headed out the door. The hushed whispers that had fallen over the room when she entered returned to a normal din of conversation at her exit. She sighed and headed back to her empty bookshop.
“You’re back already?” Paige glanced up from the desk.
“Yes, not a good time.”
“Did you at least pick up something to eat?”
“No, I’m not feeling very hungry at the moment. But you go ahead, my treat,” Addie said, withdrawing a ten-dollar bill from her wallet.
A few minutes later, Paige returned with a sandwich bag in her hand. Addie retrieved her laptop from the counter and headed to the back room. “I have some work to do. Holler if you need me.”
She placed her laptop on the small writing desk she’d retrieved from her aunt’s cellar and stared up at the blackboard she had used to keep track of previous events and suspects. She pulled down the drop cloth covering it from prying eyes, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote, Lacey Davenport, then stood back and stroked her chin.
It was no use. Nothing about Lacey came to mind, except the facts that Addie didn’t like her and her gut told her not to trust her, but that hardly made her a suspect in anything. She chewed her bottom lip and paced in front of the board. It was no use; there was no proof of Lacey’s involvement with feeding Miss Newsy false and misleading information, and no one would listen to her based on a hunch. She needed evidence to support her gut feeling.
She opened her laptop and searched Lacey Davenport, Los Angeles morning television news. It didn’t take long for over ten pages of related items to appear in the search results. She clicked through one after the other. They all expounded the talent of the rising young news reporter from the East Coast who had taken Hollywood by storm. Result after result held glowing reports of her journalism prowess, many calling her the next Diane Sawyer. Except for one report, found buried on page eight. The word “Fraud” in the headline popped out at Addie, and her finger twitched with excitement.
“Why are you researching Lacey?”
She jumped and spun around. “Marc, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I can see that.” He leaned over her shoulder, the sleeve of his police jacket grazing her ear as he eyed the web article.
She snapped her laptop closed and kept her mouth shut, too.
“What’s up, Addie?” He stood back. His gaze went to the board, where Lacey’s name was written, then back to her. “Do you think Lacey really is a suspect in the disappearance and death of June?”
“No, no.” She jumped to her feet. “I was only trying to find some background information. After all, she grew up here and I wanted to know more about—”
“I can tell you anything about her you need to know.” His eyes fixed on hers. “And, I assure you, there is nothing you need to know, because it’s not important.” He turned toward the door and stopped. “Trust me, Addie, you don’t need to worry about her—past demons, remember.” His lips curved into a shy smile. “I just dropped in to give you a fresh cinnamon roll from the bakery in the harbor. I thought you might need a pick-me-up today.” His face reddened as he set a cling-wrapped paper plate on the desk, turned, and left.
“Thank you,” she called, but there was no reply. She looked at the cinnamon roll he’d thought to bring to her and smiled, then looked up at the name scrawled across the blackboard. “Crap.” Addie sighed and leaned against the desk. “He thinks I’m investigating her because of him. Men.” She shook her head. “Well, it is because of him, but just a little bit, I suppose.” More than she liked to admit. She opened her laptop, returned to reading the article about Lacey, and sank her teeth into the roll.
When she had finished reading, she wiped her hands on a napkin and leaned back. Her fingers interlocked behind her head. “Well, well, Miss Davenport, most interesting.” She stood up and wrote on the board:
1. Started as a host on a small-market morning television show
2. Did series of investigative news stories
3. Based on those stories was offered AND accepted a coanchor position with a MAJOR network
4. Before she left the morning show, her fabrication of the news stories broke
5. Was dismissed from the morning show
6. Offer was withdrawn when proved to have used fictitious stories as a leg up in her career
She stabbed her chalk piece to make the period. “As Dad always told me—when in doubt, follow your gut.”
And her gut sure doubted.
Chapter Eight
Addie checked the time and dashed to the front of the shop as Paige unplugged the nautical lights around the Founder’s Day window displays. “Addie, you startled me.” She chuckled, patting her chest. “Are you done? I didn’t want to disturb you but didn’t think you’d mind closing a few minutes early.” She shrugged her shoulders. “No one’s been in all afternoon.”
“No. Go on and head home. I should get ready for tonight’s book club anyway. Not sure what’s expected of me as hostess, but I’d better run out and get some snacks at least.”
“That reminds me.” Paige went over to the counter and handed her a note. “Catherine Lewis called about an hour ago. She told me not to interrupt, but to have you call her as soon as you were available.”
Addie looked at the scrawled phone number and nodded. “Thanks, I’ll do that right now. Have a good evening. See you tomorrow.” She hoped there would be a tomorrow. If shoppers and her regulars avoided her store much longer, she might have to let Paige go.
Addie dialed the number Catherine had left. The phone went directly to voice mail, but the message voice sounded eerily like Lacey’s. Addie stared at the phone and rechecked the number she had dialed and tried again. This time there was an answer, and it left no doubt in Addie’s mind when Lacey’s voice cooed over her speaker. “Hello.”
“Umm, hello? This is Addie. Is Catherine Lewis there?”
Lacey’s yogurt-smooth voice curdled to sour milk. “Of course. Just a sec.”
The phone crackled, and something clunked against the receiver. “Addie, so glad you got my message.” Another clunk; the sound echoed through Addie, and she held the phone at arm’s length, frowning. “So sorry, dear, these earrings aren’t meant for phone conversations.”
“That’s okay.” Addie flipped off the reverberating speaker and pressed her ear against the phone to hear. “Oh . . . Sure, I understand . . . Yes, a bad time . . . Thanks for letting me know . . .” She pressed the phone closer to her ear. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear that, the background laughter . . . Yes, yes, of course . . . Thanks, chat soon, bye.”
Addie bit on her lip, tapping her phone on the counter. She jumped at a knock on the door and peeked out to see Marc holding a tray of cling-wrapped pastries.
“What’s this?” She opened the door, looking at the tray and back up at him.
“I knew you wouldn’t have much time to run out to buy anything, and all the nearest shops are closing now, so I thought I’d drop it off for your meeting tonight.” He swung past her, placing the silver tray on the counter.
“Thank you. Wow, that’s a very nice thought, but unfortunately I won’t need it tonight.”
His smile vanished. “What happened?”
“Oh, nothing much,” she said, pausing to upright a fallen book on a shelf. “But it seems that the meeting has been postponed until after June’s memorial service. Apparently, Lacey thought it in poor taste to rush ahead with it under the circumstances.”
“What does Lacey have to do with the book club?” He slid onto a stool.
“That’s what I’m wondering.” Addie shrugged, taking the stool beside him. “If the s
uggestion had come from Jeanie or the group members, it would make sense, but Lacey?” She shook her head and frowned.
“This is all my fault.”
“How on earth is this your fault?”
He scoured his hands over his face. “Because . . . I might have let on to her that”—he took a deep breath—“you and I are a couple.”
“You did?” A mutinous part of her heart did a flip. “I guess that answers the questions I had about why she appears to want to discredit me.” She frowned. “Why would you tell her we’re a couple? We’re just friends.” A flush crawled up her neck onto her cheeks. “Aren’t we?” She scrubbed at a random stain on the countertop. At least she wasn’t gazing at Marc like she knew he was at her.
“Yes, of course we are. I may have embellished a bit because I was a coward, I admit it. When she got back to town and came on so strong, making it clear she wanted to pick up where we’d left off, I thought if she thought I’d moved on she’d . . . Well, and honestly, I kind of thought you and I . . . Never mind.”
“Looks like that scheme backfired.” Addie tore her eyes off the stain in time to see Marc duck his head and study his shiny shoes. A small smile skipped onto her lips. “Well, now that I know I’m just dealing with a petty, jealous woman and not some bigger conspiracy, I can handle it. David had his fair share of groupies over the years, too.” She touched his knee. His hand covered hers, and for a second, just a split second, time stopped. A car backfired on the street, and time began ticking again. Clearing her throat, she slid her hand off his knee.
His hand captured hers. “So are you comparing what we have to something similar to what you had with David?”
She looked up into his dark, smoldering eyes, started to stand up, and wavered when her knees refused to work correctly. “No, not at all, it’s just that . . .” Why couldn’t she think around him? She pulled her hand from his, severing the electric surge his mere touch brought her. Forcing an easy smile, she leaned against the counter. “Maybe it’s time you did fill me on Miss Lacey Davenport, as it seems she has recruited my few friends into her camp. I distinctly heard Serena laughing in the background when I was talking to Catherine.” If he noticed her change of topic, he didn’t say, but his eyes dimmed, and he broke his gaze away from hers.
Prologue to Murder Page 5