by Quinn, Lucy
Cedar Valley started life as a coal-mining town. Most people don't realize we had a thriving coal industry for a short period over a century ago. There was no mining now. Now we were most famous for our easy access to bike and hiking trails close enough to the city to be a day trip, fishing and summer sports on the Cedar River, breakfasts at the Cedar Valley Bakery, and weddings and events at Lighthouse Gardens, a beautiful garden and event center with one of the most picturesque views of Mount Rainier anywhere.
No, we weren't anywhere near the ocean, which made the lighthouse, which was the centerpiece of the garden center, something of an oddity and tourist trap. And yes, the lighthouse had a light that really worked. We rarely used it. Not that many shipwreck emergencies this far inland. It was a gift shop and café now. The Saylor family had owned Lighthouse Gardens since the early 1940s. And as the founder, Gerald Saylor, used to say, "With a name like Saylor, you need a lighthouse." Even when landlocked, apparently.
Lighthouse Gardens was one of those places that was hard to describe to outsiders, but once you saw it, you got it. It was almost a community unto itself. On one side it had a huge, and very popular, nursery and garden center full of plants of all kinds. A gardening store full of everything a gardener could want. In another part of the complex there were beautiful gardens, an event center, an outdoor dance floor, a gazebo, a wedding chapel, a restaurant and café, a teashop, a pond, a pond shop, a spa, Earleen's stationery store—Culp's Stationery—and a hair and makeup salon—Hallie's.
A bridal party could show up at the gardens and have every necessary service available to them, from nails to catering. Nora worked out of the salon, too. And me, obviously. It was a convenient spot to meet with my bridal and event clients.
A significant part of my business was hand lettering gigs for weddings and events—signs, banners, invitations, place cards, decorations, basically anything you could imagine that needed artistic lettering.
When I first set up business, I had tried, of course, to rent a small space someplace more appropriate than a hair salon—like, say, the stationery store. Wouldn't that have been a team made in heaven? Yeah.
It might have worked if Old Man Culp was still in charge. Guess who blocked me? Not only from her stationery store, but from the teashop, the nursery, the café, and even the pond shop. I could have had a cozy office in the middle of high-tech pond pumps, but alas.
Thank goodness Hallie was an old friend of mine and immune to Earleen's strong-arm tactics. Nobody messed with Hallie, especially not when she was armed with a can of hairspray. It may not be nice to speak ill of the dead, but facts were facts. Earleen was a nasty piece of work.
I'd made a few other futile attempts to find more appropriate space since. But by the time I'd had a few more thwarted attempts, the hair salon had grown on me. And it was especially handy when I needed a bang trim or a root touch-up.
Hands swabbed and shoes carted off to evidence, I made it to Hallie's in the afternoon to pick up some standing chalkboard signs a bride had left for me to work my magic on for the weekend.
Hallie was in the middle of a balayage, but she handed it off to one of the other girls and made a beeline for me the moment I walked in the door. She caught me by the arm. "The signs are in my office." Her smile was pleasant, but it was a mask.
She walked me past the curious salon patrons waiting and peering over their magazines and phones at me, past ladies sitting in beauty chairs and watching me in mirrors, past washing sinks and standing hairdryers to her small office in the back of the salon.
Even my red carpet walk as prom queen hadn't felt this long. Why did I feel like I was doing the walk of shame on a Saturday morning in college? Like I had a scarlet M on my shirt or something? I had washed all the blood off me, hadn't I?
I glanced at the hem of my jeans. All clear. Rumors had certainly travelled fast. It was clear I was more than an object of curiosity. I was becoming more and more a mythical monster every minute.
Hallie closed her office door behind me. Something she almost never did. There was no real privacy in Cedar Valley, anyway. Closing doors was usually a futile gesture.
"The signs were just a ruse, weren't they?" I asked.
"Only partly." She pointed to where the blank signs stood in the corner. "But yes, I wanted a private word. Is it true you're a suspect? What is Ridge thinking? How could he?" She scowled.
Hallie was anything but naïve, but for reasons known only to her, she'd always believed the best of me. Even when I was guilty. Like the time in seventh grade when I'd been upset with her for flirting with Ridge and toilet papered her house. In the rain. And her parents made her clean it up. Also in the rain. Bygones. I still felt guilty about that.
"Next time Ridge comes in for a cut, maybe I'll just nick his ear." Her expression was fierce.
"Sshh." I put a finger to my lips and shook my head. "Don't even think it. Assaulting a police officer will only go badly for you and look bad for me. Ridge is only doing his job." I hoped. But I did feel betrayed. How could he?
"Well," Hallie said, looking disappointed as she plopped into her desk chair. "If you didn't kill Earleen, and everyone knows how much she provoked you, who did? Almost everyone in town has a motive."
Which was true enough. Earleen tended to get on people's bad side without much effort. Most wouldn't have minded seeing Earleen taken down a peg. But murder her? That was a whole other league of bad side.
I couldn't believe it of anybody in Cedar Valley, and said so. "It must have been someone passing through town. One of the tourists. Someone staying at the glamping park. Or someone upset because they couldn't get a table for breakfast at the bakery."
Hallie didn't crack a smile. She obviously was taking this very seriously and had other opinions.
"No? Who do you think did it?" I took a seat in Hallie's sole guest chair. Hallie heard all the gossip. Women tended to talk to their hairstylist as if she were their counselor. The things they shared… Something must have made her suspicious.
She looked conflicted. She bit her lip.
"Yes?"
"I shouldn't say," she said.
"But you will," I said. "You've heard something. Something is making you suspicious."
Hallie sighed, but I didn't think she was as reluctant as she liked to appear. "I shouldn't say, but there are rumors that Arthur Ward has been having an affair with Earleen behind Phyllis' back, and Phyllis is, was, her best friend. My money's on Artie. A crime of passion."
"Artie? From the Pond Store?" That was hard to believe. I'd gone to school with Artie.
I'd gone to school with most of the town. Or been taught by them, worked for them, had tea with my grandma with them…
Artie was a few years older than I was and used to be considered cute back in the day. But sadly, he peaked at seventeen and hadn't aged well. These days he was a meek little man with an oddly shaped bald spot that made Hallie itch to simply shave his head. But he thwarted her and got his hair cut at some chain barbershop in the next town over. He was tight with a dollar and not exactly a lothario.
Hallie nodded. "I've had quite a few reports of them being seen together around town and even in Seattle. Someone, who shall remain nameless, happened to run into them at a lingerie store at U Village. Of course, my source made certain she wasn't seen."
I opened my mouth to cut in, but Hallie talked over me. I'd never seen her so worked up.
"Haven't you noticed that Artie has been fixing up?"
"To be honest, I haven't seen him in a while," I said.
Hallie shook her head. "He's been working out, buying new clothes, growing a beard. All the signs are there." She took a quick breath. "Phyllis was in last week, airing her worries again that Artie was fooling around. She found some suspicious texts on Artie's phone. Some suspicious receipts for meals and other expenses in their bills. Phyllis thinks he's having a torrid affair with someone. I didn't have the heart to tell her who. But it's possible she found out."
; Was there any other way to describe an affair except torrid? Just once I wanted to hear about a tepid affair. Setting my personal preferences about affair adjectives aside, I shook my head. "Artie and Earleen? If Phyllis found out, she could be a suspect. For sure Phyllis has a vivid imagination. Artie isn't Earleen's type. Not even on a desperate day. And she has Jack."
I had enough experience with Earleen to know what her type of guy was—mine. "If Artie and Earleen were meeting in secret, there's another explanation."
Which got me wondering. But it was none of my business. I'd just keep my nose out of it and let Ridge do his job. "If your pond pump needs priming, Artie is your guy. And I don't mean that in a dirty way at all. But if anything else needs priming…" I cocked my head.
Hallie raised an eyebrow. "Earleen doesn't have a pond or a fountain. And now that you mention Jack, he should be a suspect, too. Another crime of passion—killing Earleen because she cheated on him."
I shrugged. I couldn't see Jack as a crime-of-passion guy either. "Keep your ears open for me, will you?"
"You have to ask?" Hallie paused. "I heard Earleen was shot." Hallie looked to me for confirmation. When I didn't deny it, she sighed. "Shooting someone is a man's crime."
She gave me a look emphasizing the point. "If Earleen had been poisoned, I would have suspected a woman. Poisoning would be more Phyllis' style. She has access to all kinds of poisons in the gardening store. Even you might be capable of poisoning someone." Hallie's face clouded. "Do they know what caliber the murder weapon was?"
I still didn't answer.
"If I were you, I'd make sure you know where your pistol is."
Too late for that. I shuddered at the warning.
Chapter 3
I'd just gotten back to Flourish and was putting the signs I'd picked up at Hallie's on my worktable when Nora breezed in, fully made up and beautiful, as always. She still looked like a model.
"Hey," she said, brushing her gorgeous long hair out of her face. "Did you do your video barefaced?" She studied my quick makeup job, which was pretty abysmal and would have never played well on camera. "I can't believe you'd give Hot Hugh any advantage. He's already egotistical enough as it is. And you were amazingly cryptic about the delay. Did Ridge finally stop by for a little early morning snuggle?"
See? I knew she'd be suspicious about that text. "He stopped by, all right. But not for what you think." Suddenly it dawned on me. "You haven't heard?" Nora had never been a big one for listening to the news.
"Heard what?"
"Someone murdered Earleen."
Nora paled. "No."
"Just feet from my door."
She looked back over her shoulder at the covered sidewalk in front of the store as if the crime scene might materialize suddenly in front of her.
"Not here," I said. "Thank goodness. At home. I found her on my welcome mat."
"No. On No Knockee Before Coffee?" Nora shuddered. "That's such a great doormat."
I nodded grimly. "The very one. It's selfish, I know, but it's ruined for me now. I'll always associate it with what happened to poor Earleen. I'll have to design another one. Anyway, that's why I was delayed. And missed my video session. Ridge had to take my statement."
"Wow." Nora looked stunned. "How was she…you know?"
"Killed? Shot. In the head."
"Ouch." Nora winced.
I could see what was running through Nora's mind. But no amount of makeup was going to make Earleen look presentable again.
"That's too bad." Nora didn't sound convincing. "For her. But to be honest, most people in town, while not exactly wishing her dead, will be relieved she's gone."
"What do you mean?" I asked. I knew what I had against Earleen. But I wanted to hear Nora's opinions.
"As you know full well, she was always on a power trip," Nora said. "Sticking her nose in everyone's business. Picking up gossip. Using what she heard to control people and get her way. I've always thought the main reason she was so angry about her store failing, in addition to the monetary aspect, was that she'd lose her source of gossip. And, therefore, power.
"Think about it: every time someone came in to buy a card or gift item for a special occasion, she knew about it. If someone bought a card for a lover, or a birthday. If someone died. Or turned eighty. Or was graduating. She heard about everything. And she could tell from the sentiments on the cards people bought what they were thinking and how they felt about things.
"She was good at putting two and two together, too. For example, if a man came in and bought a sexy card, supposedly for his wife, Earleen had a nose for knowing that he'd never get a card like that for the wife. That he always got her the silly ones. And she had her ways of finding out whether his wife ever got it or some other woman was the recipient.
"Not to mention that people are chatty when picking out cards. And Earleen was always right there with her subtle questions and helpful 'advice,' which was really nothing more than prying. Oh, Earleen was a sly one."
"She did have a good eye for a greeting card sentiment," I said, thinking Nora was perceptive. "You have to give her that."
"And more—she knew how to wield the information she got. I've always thought that's how she kept you from getting a spot in the teashop. Or that nice little shed that you could have converted into such a cute space. It was so like you."
Nora paused. "Earleen had something on everyone in this town. And if she didn't, she'd make something up. People believed her because she knew just enough truth to make a lie seem real." Nora took a seat. "There are as many people in this town with motives to kill her as there are people who buy greeting cards."
Nora was right.
She shook her head and looked at me pityingly. "Are there any suspects yet?"
"Not that I know of."
Nora frowned. "Jamie?"
She knew me too well. "My gun is missing."
"What?" Nora had always been expressive and easy to read. At one time she'd wanted to be an actor. Shock, dismay, horror—they were all written on her face.
"Ridge had Randy get a warrant and search the store for it—nothing. Ridge searched my house, too." I swallowed hard.
Nora was the only person I'd told or planned to tell. Ridge had made me swear not to tell anyone, but this was Nora. How could I hide it from her?
"This is all under our personal cone of silence," I said. "No one else can know. If word gets out, it will look bad for me and may compromise the investigation. I don't want to live under the shadow of suspicion."
"Jamie." Nora pulled me into a hug. "I'm only saying this because you're such a good friend and I need to be honest—this doesn't look good for you."
She pulled away suddenly and held me at arm's length, looking into my eyes. "Until another suspect is found, people are going to think Earleen had something on you. And that's why she ended up dead on your doorstep. And after that confrontation you had with her in the bakery yesterday…"
"That was just—"
"I know it was just. But will everyone else? I hope Ridge knows what he's doing." Nora reached into her purse and pulled out a makeup compact. "Your nose is shiny. I can't stand it. Let me fix you up."
"Can you make me look innocent?"
Nora had the unique knack of seeing the beauty in everyone and being able to bring it out. Maybe she could see innocence, too?
"You mean like a puppy or a virgin?" she said with a grin that was calculated to distract and cheer me. "I can do that. Make you look innocent of murder, though, that's another thing." She swirled her makeup brush in the foundation powder. "Piece of advice—let's stay away from the femme fatale look until this all blows over."
After Nora left, I stared at myself in the compact mirror I carried in my purse. She'd made me look like the girl next door—fresh-faced and totally without guile. Was that enough?
I slid my compact back into my purse and went to check for my gun, as if it might have suddenly materialized or Randy had just ineptly missed it. As if h
e would take any chance of screwing up this investigation of a lifetime. He would have searched everyplace at least three times.
I kept my 9mm in a drawer beneath the counter. What good was a gun if it was locked up? An armed robber or assailant wasn't going to wait for me to retrieve it from the safe so we could have a fair fight. Of course the drawer was empty.
The truth was that many people and merchants in towns had guns. But mine made me more suspicious than others because I'd had it when I lived in the city. And because I used to carry concealed. And because I'd been involved in an incident in Seattle—I'd been walking home alone from the bus stop after dark and was attacked. I'd drawn my gun and held the attacker until the police arrived.
I thought over what Nora had said, frustrated that anyone could think I was involved in Earleen's death. I'd always had this thing about justice and fairness. And this just wasn't fair. And if it continued, I could lose everything. No one wanted to buy inspirational quotes from a murder suspect. Or a prison.
I wondered—maybe I should just do a little investigating into this myself? You know, to help Ridge out. There were people who would talk to me who wouldn't talk to him. What could it hurt?
Chapter 4
I received a call from the biohazard cleanup team my insurance company had sent out that my front walk and yard were clean and free of biohazards. I assumed they meant blood. And probably other bodily fluids and bits that I didn't want to think about. I was just hanging up with them when my Auntie Opal walked into Flourish, leaning heavily on her bright pink, bedazzled cane. She'd left the flashing lights off the cane today, probably as a nod to the solemnity of the occasion. Opal was actually my great-aunt, my late grandma's sister. She moved with her characteristic tap, tap, tap of her cane.
Most people put rubber stoppers on their canes to deaden the sound (so many bad word choices). But not Auntie Opal. I think she bought the hardest plastic stoppers she could find just so she could make as grand an entrance as possible. She liked rhythm. She'd done some drumming in her youth—according to her, she'd done a bit of everything at some point. At almost eighty, Opal was slowing down. She only lived across town. I'd expected her much earlier.