Light from the window reflected off the liquor bottles, casting pools of color along the mahogany bar that ran down one side of the restaurant. Diners already filled the booths that marched down the opposite side. Tables took up the floor space between. The fireplace in the rear wall by the kitchen was unlit today, but provided a cheery atmosphere on chilly days.
I spied Harris sitting at one of tables. Head tipped forward so that his dark hair flopped over his forehead, he was deep in discussion with a man who looked vaguely familiar. The stranger wore a white shirt, pressed jeans, and fancy boots. Then I saw the incongruous Panama hat on the chair next to him, and pegged him as the guy who had first opened the door for me at the hotel the evening before, and then almost hit me with the same door as I’d been leaving.
Maggie came back from giving the kitchen my order and started mixing a dirty martini. Gin with two olives just like I liked it. When she put it in front of me, I said, “I don’t remember ordering that.”
“Drink it, honey. I heard what happened at the hotel this morning. Murder, your interview down the drain, and now Detective Lang thinks that lovely girl your brother brought home with him might have done the evil deed.” She tsked. “As if. Why on earth would she kill Blake Sontag?”
I let that slide, obediently sipping the ice-cold gin, cloudy with sour olive juice. I sighed with pleasure. “No one makes a martini like you do, Maggie.”
“It’s a gift,” she agreed cheerfully.
“How did you hear Larken is a suspect?”
Maggie nodded toward Harris. “His buddy dropped by.” She meant Detective Lang. “Didn’t seem too worried about being overheard, either. So, you know—I listened.” Her eyes narrowed as she watched my ex wave his hands to make a point. “I wonder if Detective Lang likes that girl as a murder suspect because of her connection to you?”
I blanched. “No. You don’t really think . . .” I rubbed my forehead with one hand and lifted the martini to my mouth with the other. It was possible that Maggie was right. Max and I hadn’t gotten along very well when Harris and I were married; the divorce had only made it worse. And I knew he was still fuming over the fact he hadn’t been able to throw me in jail for murdering Josie.
“Dang it,” I whispered, and took another sip.
A couple came in and sat at the bar, and Maggie went to take their drink order. I slid off my stool and wended my way through the tables to where Harris and his friend sat. Their conversation trailed off as I approached. Stopping by the side of their table, I nodded to my ex-husband.
“Harris.”
He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Ellie.”
I smiled at Panama Hat. He glanced at his companion, then smiled back. He was so tall that even though he was sitting down, we were nearly eye to eye. His were the color of ripe chestnuts and framed by thick lashes. He smelled of pipe tobacco and whiskey.
“What brings you into the Roux?” Harris asked, his voice tight. He liked it better during the year I stayed away from the restaurant. I reminded myself to come in more often.
“The food, of course.” I nodded toward the bar. “And one of Maggie’s most excellent martinis.”
The look on his face was sour as he shot a look at Panama Hat. I realized I was making Harris more uncomfortable than usual. I wasn’t entirely proud of the feeling of glee that thought sent through me. On the other hand . . .
I stuck out my hand. “Hi. I’m Ellie Allbright.” The smile broadened on my face. “I’m Harris’ ex-wife.”
Panama Hat looked amused as he took my hand. His palm, dry and smooth, enveloped mine. “Well, hello, Ellie. I’m Vaughn.” His voice was a deep baritone, smoothed by smoke and bourbon and rounded with a slight accent that hinted at a childhood spent deep in Texas.
“I think I saw you at the Hotel California last night,” I said.
Harris abruptly stood. “Come on. Let’s go back to my office where we can discuss our business in peace.”
His friend’s lips curved up, and one eyebrow twitched as he let go of my hand. “Sure thing, Harris.” When he stood, he towered over me. “Nice to meet you, Ellie.”
My ex hustled his friend toward the kitchen doorway and, presumably, to his office beyond.
Puzzled by Harris’ secretive attitude, I returned to the bar. Within moments, the Roux’s head chef, Raleigh, brought my to-go order out himself.
I paid for the food, gave Raleigh a big kiss on his wrinkled cheek before he returned to the kitchen, and turned to go. Then I paused. “Maggie, can you come to work at the shop early tomorrow? Say, eleven?”
She grinned. “Yep. You have plans?”
I nodded. “Hope so.”
“Anything to do with this latest murder?”
I answered with an enigmatic smile, sketched a wave, and left with dinner.
Astrid and I had agreed to visit Joyous together the next day, but I also wanted to talk to Felicity Donovan and check in with the Realtor who had the listing for the Sontag family land. That meant unaccustomed time away from my shop, and I counted myself lucky Maggie was not only a great employee, but usually eager to work extra hours.
• • •
COLBY’S Westfalia van was parked in front of Scents & Nonsense when I got back. I found him and Larken sitting in the wicker chairs out in the garden, Dash at their feet. My brother rose to help me with the food, but Larken was twisted around in her seat and barely spared me a glance. When I saw what had snagged her attention, I understood why.
“They gather around Nabby like that all the time,” I said, nodding toward the dozens of iridescent azure wings clustered in the buddleia bush above the cat. “A kaleidoscope of blue butterflies. And when he takes a walk, sometimes they follow behind him. It’s quite the sight.”
“Wow,” Larken breathed. “That’s amazing. Magical.”
“Enchanting?” I teased.
Colby had paused in unpacking the food to look at the butterflies. Now he rolled his eyes. “No wonder you named him Nabokov.”
“Actually, I didn’t name him. The Realtor said he came with the building. I don’t know how long he’s been here, but he’s a shop cat, through and through. Never comes to the house, never ventures beyond the garden gate.” I pulled up another chair. “I just figured someone named him that because he’s a Russian blue shorthair.”
My brother laughed. “Well, yeah. You’re probably right. But you know about Nabokov’s blues, right?”
Larken turned to sit forward again, but kept looking over her shoulder at the cluster of slowly waving wings. The blooms on the butterfly bush were a dark purple, and the combination really was stunning.
“Nabokov’s blues?” she asked at the same time I shook my head in answer to my brother’s question.
“Vladimir Nabokov was famous for his study of blue butterflies.”
“Hang on. The guy who wrote Lolita?” I asked. “That Nabokov?”
“Yep. Same one. Everyone knows him as a writer, but the man was an accomplished amateur lepidopterist.”
“Colby, you are a font of odd information,” I said. “I’ll go grab some plates.” But I looked at the snoozing cat with new eyes as I passed by.
When I returned with plates and flatware, we dished up and dug in. It turned out that Larken wasn’t a vegetarian, but tried to eat only organic meat that was locally sourced. I didn’t know where Harris got his chicken anymore, so she stuck with the vegetable lasagna. She didn’t refuse a big helping of the green beans laced with bacon, though.
As we dug in, we caught up on the minutiae of our lives. Colby and I kept in fairly regular touch on the phone and through e-mail, so he was largely up to speed. I filled in some information about Ritter for Larken, and told them both more about his project. I answered Larken’s questions about Sense & Nonsense, then asked her about herself. She had two older sisters and her parents liv
ed in upstate New York. She’d grown up there before going to college in Colorado and getting a degree in sustainable land management. Since then she’d worked on several farms to gain hands-on experience. One of those farms was where she’d met my brother.
Finally, we fell silent and there was nothing but birdsong and the sound of Dash’s heavy breathing as he willed us to drop a bite where he sat by my left foot. I relented and gave him a chunk of chicken, which he made disappear faster than David Copperfield could.
Colby sat back, making the wicker chair creak. “This food is awesome. All of it. Thanks.”
Larken murmured her agreement, snagging another green bean and biting it delicately with her front teeth.
“It’s the least I could do, especially after that dinner debacle last night,” I said, making a face.
She sighed and put down her fork.
“How was your hike?” I asked, trying to change the subject. Their noses were both a little sunburned, and Colby was suffering from a serious case of hat hair.
“It was great,” Larken said. I could hear the forced cheer in her voice.
“It was great,” Colby said. “We only got as far as Falcon Rock, but you were right—it was good to get some exercise after what happened this morning.” He cut off a big bite of cheesecake and brought it to his lips. After he swallowed, he put down his fork, too. “Ellie, did you have a chance to find out anything more?”
I got up and gave Nabby a small bite of chicken so he wouldn’t feel left out, then returned to my seat. “Well, I did get a chance to talk to Cynthia, and I called our folks to see if they knew anything about the family.” I told them about Blake’s parents’ unfortunate demise in the Arizona arroyo. “Dad told me the Sontags had some land. It’s been in the family since way back when Poppyville was just a supply station for the miners. From what he told me, Joyous must be the sole heir now, and get this—the place is already for sale.”
Larken frowned. “Joyous?”
“Blake’s sister,” I explained. “Astrid and I are going to pay her a visit tomorrow. And Cynthia told me about another possible suspect that I want to have a chat with.” I examined her face, trying to get a feel for her mood. “We’ll do our best to figure this out. The best thing for you might be to go back to the hotel and make an early night of it.”
“No!”
I blinked.
“Sorry. But no. Not at the hotel. We checked out this afternoon. I’m not spending another night in that place.”
I looked at Colby.
He smiled a tight smile. “I’m with Lark on that. We’re back in the van.” He stretched. “We do have to figure out a place to park it, though. I don’t suppose your Detective Lang would like us camping out in front of your store.”
“He’s not my detective, believe me. But I might know a place. Let me give Gessie King a call.”
“At the stables?” He brightened.
“She lets people camp out in back of the barn sometimes.” I watched Larken.
She smiled. “Sounds great to me.”
I gave a quick nod and rose to make the call from inside the store.
Gessie answered on the first ring, and after I’d explained the situation, she quickly agreed to my suggestion. “Of course your brother’s welcome for as long as he likes. They can park next to the wagons we use for the hayrides. There’s power there and easy access to water so we can prep the chuck wagon.” She made a noise in the back of her throat, and I imagined her sitting with her muddy paddock boots propped on the saddle stand next to her desk while she ran her fingers through her short gray hair. “I must say, I’d heard something about a death at the hotel, but I was out on a trail ride with a bunch of dudes all afternoon, and hadn’t caught up with the latest. You let me know if there’s anything else I can do, Ellie.”
“Thanks, Gessie. You’re a gem.”
I had walked back outside as the conversation wound down. We said good-bye, and I sank into the chair.
“You’re all set,” I said. “She said you can stay by where she stores the wagons.”
“Are there many horses?” Larken asked.
“Lots of them,” I said. “You don’t mind?”
“Why would I mind?”
“Some people don’t like the smell of a stable.”
But Colby’s girlfriend shook her head. “I love the smell of horses. One day I hope to have one of my own.”
Along with her little farm. She was a dreamer, but it was hard to fault her for it. After all, I’d followed my own dream of opening Scents & Nonsense.
Eventually.
However, Colby had developed a renewed interest in the butterflies hanging from the butterfly bush like so much enticing fruit. My brother had his own dreams, and they were very different from Larken’s. He was all about freedom rather than roots. That didn’t bode well for their relationship. The thought made me sad, because they obviously cared for each other.
Ritter’s handsome face flashed on my mental movie screen, and suddenly the butterflies took flight, all at once. I was almost surprised by how silent they were even en masse. I joined Larken’s head-back, mouth-open response as they spiraled up in a tornado of blue.
The butterflies disappeared toward the meadow, and Larken and Colby started cleaning up the after-dinner detritus. The phone trilled loudly in my hand, startling me so that I nearly dropped it. The setting sun had started to paint the edge of the sky flamingo pink, so I knew it had to be after seven thirty. Perhaps it was a customer who thought the shop would still be open.
“Scents and Nonsense,” I answered.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I thought you’d be closed.” The male voice was vaguely familiar.
“We are closed,” I said, confused. “But why would you call if—”
“If I thought you wouldn’t be there? Good question. It’s just that this is the only number I could find for you—this is Elliana Allbright, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I answered slowly. “Who’s this?”
He laughed. “Let me start over. Elliana, my name is Tanner Spence. Most people call me Spence, though.”
Sontag’s photographer.
“Most people call me Ellie,” I said.
Larken swung around and looked at me. Had there been something in my voice?
“Ellie it is, then.” I heard him take a deep breath. “Okay, this is going to sound, well, unfeeling at best and horrible at worst.”
“Go on.”
“I was wondering if you’d still be willing to let Conscience Magazine interview you and take pictures of your tiny house. And by ‘Conscience Magazine,’ I mean me.”
“Er . . .”
“See? Unfeeling and horrible. I know, I know. But here’s my thinking—what happened to Bla— Mr. Sontag was tragic. Really terrible, you know? But I don’t want the magazine to suffer as well. Or our readers. We go to print for next month’s edition in just a few days, and that whole issue is focused on small-footprint homes. I’d really like to include yours—”
I cut him off. “Okay.”
“Oh! Oh, good. Yes. You understand.” I could hear actual relief in his voice. “I don’t suppose you would be available tomorrow?”
“What time?” I asked.
“Late afternoon would be ideal. The light is better then.”
Thank goodness Maggie was coming in early the next day. “Okay. Say . . . four o’clock?”
“Perfect,” Tanner Spence said. “I’ll see you then! Oh, and Ellie? Thank you. Have a great evening.” And he was gone.
Until four o’clock tomorrow, at least.
“Who was that?” Colby asked.
“Apparently, my house is going to be featured in Conscience after all. That was Blake’s photographer.”
“The guy with the dreamy eyes?” Larken said with a grin.
Colby loo
ked sharply at her.
She squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry. I only have eyes for you, sweetie.” She winked at me.
I muttered, “You two better get the van set up before it gets too dark.”
They took the hint and left a few minutes later. I finished cleaning up and took our dishes and the leftovers to my kitchen. It was unlikely Spence would want to take pictures of the inside of my refrigerator, but just in case, I transferred the food into the old-fashioned Pyrex containers I preferred over plastic. Then I did the dishes, put them away, spiffed up the kitchen, took out the garbage, and did a quick pass on the rest of my home. Dash watched me quizzically from his bed by the back door. A few quick swipes with a lint roller took care of the dog hair on the love seat before I swept the bits of leaves and pine needles off the back porch.
When I was done, I leaned on the broom and gazed out at the meadow in the last of the twilight. The petite white flowers of daisy fleabane that nestled among the native grasses still held enough of the fading light that they looked like tiny sparks. If I let my focus soften, I could almost imagine they were fairies coming out for an evening of play and mischief.
Something moved in the nearby copse of trees to the north. I turned my head, expecting to see the buck mule deer who so often brought his harem out at this time of night.
But it was a doe. Not one I’d ever seen before. I knew because she was completely white from head to hoof. She walked toward me, apparently unafraid, perhaps curious. I glanced down at Dash, but he made no move to chase her. That surprised me, herding dog that he was. The doe stopped when she was only fifteen feet away, bent her head, and ate one of the snow-pale flowers.
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