Murder, Malice and Mischief

by Quinn, Lucy

  I told him about Artie and Earleen and the rumors they were having an affair behind Phyllis' back. "They were both at the memorial. Artie kept glancing furtively at Earleen's picture."

  "Furtive looks how?"

  I imitated it.

  Ridge laughed. "That's not what I meant and you know it. What do you mean by furtive? Like he's heartbroken to lose a lover?"

  "More like he hopes Earleen took their secret to her grave," I said.

  "You think he'd kill for that?" Ridge looked skeptical. "That's not the Artie I know. In school, he was kind of meek."

  I shrugged. It wasn't like the Artie I knew, either. I didn't want to throw Artie under the bus with no real evidence, but Ridge had asked for my thoughts. "Unless the murderer is some vagrant who was passing through town, whoever the murderer is won't seem like the person we know them to be."

  "True. I'll look into it," Ridge said.

  "Good." I tried to look innocent, but I was already thinking of asking around a bit myself.

  Ridge knew me too well. He read my mind as if I was his twin instead of Rut. "Let me do the investigating, Jamers. For now, you're still a suspect."

  After dinner, Ridge drove Auntie Opal home. I was left alone. My mind wouldn't stop wandering back to the crime scene, and my nerves were jangly. To calm myself, I did what I always did—dove into my work and the pleasant, upbeat, inspirational world of quotes and lettering. I had a lot of work to do anyway. I'd never been more grateful for having a job I loved so much.

  I lost myself in my project, working until my eyes grew bleary. Finally, I got up and stretched. I turned out the lights downstairs and took a final peek through the curtains at my yard, just to, you know, make sure there were no more dead bodies lying around. To my surprise, I caught Jack Davis, Earleen's supposed boyfriend, laying a dark rose on her memorial. And I wondered why he hadn't come earlier.

  Chapter 6

  Thursday

  On Thursdays I usually have appointments with brides and event clients at Hallie's Hair Salon at Lighthouse Gardens most of the day. Today was a little different—after a morning meeting with a client, I had an important morning vendor meeting with Colleen Saylor Capshaw, the coordinator of the Lighthouse Gardens spring bridal fair, which was coming up in just weeks. Colleen's family owned Lighthouse Gardens.

  Lighthouse Gardens holds two bridal fairs a year—one in the spring and one in the fall—to showcase the venue and their recommended vendors. The spring fair was the largest of the two. A successful fair would result in enough bookings to let me breathe a bit about finances. It was a key part of my business plan. I couldn't afford to blow it.

  Among the many horrible and tragic things about Earleen's murder was the timing was so rotten for me. I was worried about the meeting and what Colleen would say about me finding Earleen's body on my lawn. If she suspended me from the spring fair—

  I shuddered. It didn't bear thinking about. I had to keep moving forward.

  On Thursdays, my part-time assistant, Rosemary Fulmer, comes in to watch the shop for me while I'm out. She's a single mom with a cute six-year-old son. She can usually only work school hours during the school year. Summers the little guy spends with his paternal grandparents on the coast, so her schedule is more flexible then. Rosemary is one of the few people in town who wasn't born and bred here. But she seems to be accepted by most.

  Rosemary is not a brilliant hand letterer. In fact, she really has no aptitude for it at all. But I didn't hire her to make art. Fortunately, that's my job. She's friendly and personable, and, best of all, reliable. She's also a born saleswoman who knows enough about hand lettering to really sell it. Customers like her, which is important. She knows how to take orders and recommend supplies. Except for her love life, which I have to hear too much about, she's perfect. Unfortunately, she was coming off a bad breakup with Jack Davis. And by "coming off," I mean it was months ago already.

  Yes, that Jack Davis—Earleen's boyfriend of the past few months. Jack manages the glamping park on the south side of town. Glamping has become big in recent years. The park is full of cute, tiny glamping pods/cabins, each one unique. They booked up months in advance.

  I was grateful to Jack—he'd commissioned unique hand lettered quotes for each of the pods. It was a nice touch and good for my business. Glampers have cash and, apparently, are into handcrafted art. I've lost count of the number of them who've come in to buy a pre-made poster or commission art from me. I sell a lot of the posters I've made of the original art in each of the glamping pods. It was interesting to me how the personality of the people who stayed in each of the pods seemed to match the personality of the pod, kind of like dogs and their owners who start to look alike. And their choice of posters also gave me insight into human nature.

  Jack was both manager and superintendent/main handyman. He wasn't homegrown in Cedar Valley either, but he was good with his tools. So good, in fact, that, at Rosemary's recommendation (before they broke up, obviously), I hired him to fix things around the shop. It had been great while their relationship lasted, but now I lived in fear of something needing repair and Rosemary coming in to work while Jack was on the job for me. In a small town like Cedar Valley, our handyman options are limited. And it's pricey to have someone come out from the city.

  The truth is—I like Jack. I thought he was slumming it with Earleen. But like handymen, dating options are also limited here. You'd think with Internet dating and apps, and Seattle and Tacoma not being that far away, he would have looked farther afield. But some people like the convenience of dating extremely locally, I guess. Maybe Jack just wanted a hometown girl and former local beauty queen. Snark. Well, whatever, who was I to say who should be with whom? Love is fickle. I think I might have even hand lettered that sentiment a time or two.

  On Thursdays, I usually stop by Flourish in the morning to open it up and get my coffee, and then again in the evening to close up shop. Rosemary was waiting for me when I arrived, which was unusual. Generally, she came in at least fifteen minutes after I did because of her son's school schedule. She looked fidgety and nervous, not what I would have expected.

  "Terrible about Earleen, isn't it?" Her voice was hard. She put a hand on my arm. "Must be horrible for you, anyway. How are you holding up?"

  "Hanging in there." I still hadn't had all the coffee I needed. I wasn't in a chatty mood yet. I opened the door and let us in.

  Rosemary made a beeline for the counter while I went straight for the dividing wall between Perk Me Up and Flourish. It was only by chance that I glanced over my shoulder while rolling up the barrier between stores. Rosemary had opened the drawer where I had kept the gun. Look, I wasn't a fool, or completely careless. The gun was well concealed beneath a false panel. You had to know it was there and how to unlatch the false bottom to find it. She knew both.

  When our eyes met, she shrugged. "Oops! Where's my mind this morning? Wrong drawer!" She opened the drawer next to it and locked her purse in.

  I knew how she felt. We were all rattled. But her guilty expression gave me a thought I'd rather not have had—Rosemary knew I had the gun. She knew exactly where I kept it and how to get it. I'd told her and sworn her to secrecy about it just in case she ever needed it in the shop for self-defense.

  She'd sworn to me that she knew how to use a gun. And had proved it to me at the gun club when I insisted on taking her shooting to make sure. Rosemary hated Earleen. She'd been despondent for months over her breakup with Jack and blamed Earleen for it. Was that enough for murder? Crimes of passion—they were everywhere you looked on true crime shows. Was Rosemary that passionate about Jack? Enough to take the life of her rival? What had happened really happened to Rosemary's late ex, her son's dad? Was she some kind of black widow?

  I forced a smile and glanced away. It took all my concentration to finish pulling up the barrier and latch it in place.

  Fortunately, Angel was waiting for me with my usual morning coffee. "Drink this. I have the feeling you're goin
g to have to do a lot of talking today."

  I gave her a thumbs-up and took it from her, grateful she knew me so well. She was a good friend.

  It was busy in Perk Me Up. Angel had to get right back to work. I took my coffee and went back to Flourish to gather up some things I needed for my meetings. Rosemary left me alone long enough for me to finish half a cup of coffee, but I could tell she was dying to talk to me.

  "I heard—well, I saw on social media and the news—that there's a memorial for Earleen on your lawn," Rosemary said, almost too casually. Who was she kidding? If she was like everyone else in this town, she'd taken a stroll by.

  "It was only on my lawn until Opal and I showed up and made Phyllis move it. Now it's on the sidewalk in front of my house." I was arguing semantics. In essence, it was at my place.

  "Lots of townspeople left flowers and such?" Rosemary adjusted a display of waterproof, archival ink pens. "I would have stopped by myself. But the kid. I didn't want to upset him. Ever since his dad passed, death scares him. And, of course, out of respect for you, too."

  "The usual suspects," I said. "Earleen's supporters, those she rode roughshod on, the gossips, the amateur sleuths, and the morbidly curious."

  "Sounds like a nice crowd."

  "Yeah. So nice I almost offered them lemonade."

  She was clearly curious about something. If I were a mind reader, I'd have guessed she wanted to know about Jack—

  "I don't suppose Jack stopped by?"

  And I won the prize for most psychic moment of the day. I debated with myself for all of two seconds about whether I should tell her the truth. I decided there was no reason to tip my hand and give away that I'd seen Jack. And so I did something I rarely did—I lied. "Not that I saw. But there were a lot of people milling around. He could have been in the crowd, I suppose. To be honest, the memorial is upsetting. I closed my curtains early and tried to ignore the whole thing."

  Rosemary relaxed. "I'm sorry. I'm being insensitive."

  "No, it's all right." I gulped down the rest of my coffee and prayed the caffeine rush would hit fast. Caffeine makes most people jangly, but it calms my nerves. "I gotta run. Brides don't like to be kept waiting. It brings out the bridezilla in them." I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. "I'll be back at the usual time this evening. Call if you need me. I'm not expecting trouble, but we may have more looky-loos than normal. If anyone gets out of hand or makes you feel uncomfortable, call the police. I'm serious. Don't hesitate."

  "Will do, boss." She saluted me.

  I waved and was out the door. It was really beneath me, but just outside the store, I hesitated by the window, out of Rosemary's view, and peeked around to see what Rosemary would do. Sure enough, she went straight for the gun drawer. She lifted open the secret compartment. An odd combination of confusion and relief crossed her face.

  Word had gotten all over town that the cops had searched my home and Flourish. There was no word on what they were looking for. Ridge had managed to keep a pretty tight lid on that. But people could assume a gun. Why was Rosemary looking for it?

  I hated to do it, but I added her to my mental list of suspects. I backed away from the window and headed to Lighthouse Gardens before anyone spotted me looking suspicious outside my own shop and got the wrong idea.

  What did I do now? Did I have a murderer or a traitor working for me? A spy for the real murderer? A co-conspirator? Or simply a curious gossip or amateur sleuth?

  A shiver crept up my spine. Until I knew more, I wouldn't convict Rosemary, not even in my mind. The consequences would be too devastating to her. She depended on this job to make ends meet. And besides, if she were guilty, I couldn't fire Rosemary without arousing her suspicions. I'd have to be very careful. Very, very careful.

  Chapter 7

  The City of Seattle is a news-suck. They get all the airplay, leaving the smaller communities in King, Snohomish, and Pierce Counties feeling neglected. As I sneaked into the back entrance of Hallie's, I'd never been so glad of it before in my life. My bride from West Seattle was waiting for me in my consultation room at the back of the salon. She was oblivious to my new notoriety. My meeting with her went well and went long. After my bride left, I lingered, stalling. My bride may have been unaware, but the people of Cedar Valley were highly aware. And it was just a matter of time before the news spread beyond the boundaries of our idyllic little town.

  The vendor group was meeting in the banquet room of the Lighthouse Gardens bistro. I intentionally arrived as late as possible to avoid any uncomfortable conversations and as many accusing looks as possible. The room was already filled with the managers of the nursery, the floral shop, the bistro, the bakery, the photography studio, the teashop, DJs, and other vendors—freelance photographers, cake artists, caterers, and assorted other vendors, including Hallie. She had saved me a seat in the back row. I slid in next to her.

  "I was worried you were going to play hooky," Hallie whispered. "Your bride was clueless?"

  "Fortunately," I whispered. "I whisked her out before she could catch wind of the murder."

  Colleen called the meeting to order. The agenda was the usual boring stuff—contracts, booth placement, hours, and rules and etiquette. No badmouthing the competition. This was my fifth wedding fair with Lighthouse Gardens. I knew the ropes. Halfway through the agenda, Colleen adjourned for a ten-minute bathroom and coffee break.

  Sue LaRue, the owner and proprietor of LaRue Perfumery of Cedar Valley, caught me at the coffee pot. Fortunately, the bistro served excellent coffee. And I liked Sue and usually enjoyed catching up with her. She always smelled wonderfully luxurious and glamorous and had a brilliant smile. She wore the latest scents from France and Italy before they were even available in the States. I bought all my perfume from her. You can't always trust online sources. Sometimes you get inferior perfume knockoffs.

  Today she smelled like…plain old vanilla? A very good one, but still. What was up with that?

  Sue leaned into me. "So, did you go by Culp's this morning?"

  I shook my head as I poured coffee into a paper cup. "For obvious reasons, I'm avoiding it."

  Sue took a deep breath. "Dana has it up and running this morning. As if nothing has happened."

  "I suppose that's natural," I said, but my doubt crept into my voice. "Earleen was struggling. The store can't afford to lose any more business. Until things are settled…"

  "You're too kind, Jamie." Sue jangled the bracelet on her wrist. "Believe what you like, but I think Dana likes the attention. There's been nothing but a steady stream of customers since they opened. And Phyllis is right beside Dana bending their ears. Phyllis is like a woman possessed. She has nothing good to say about you. Oddly, Dana's been defending you, but Phyllis won't be subdued." Sue frowned.

  "What?" I fixed the sipper lid onto my cup, sensing there was more Sue wanted to say. If I couldn't have freshly whipped foam or a barista-made favorite, I drank my coffee black.

  "Oh, it's nothing." Sue stepped up to get hot water for tea. "I just don't like Dana. Never have. Since she came to stay with Earleen, she's been insufferable with her bragging and the way she throws money around. Not that I cared for Earleen all that much, but it was insensitive of Dana to show off her wealth when she knew Earleen was struggling. And I've heard through the grapevine that Dana hasn't even been chipping in for groceries while she's here. Her two young boys were eating Earleen out of house and home."

  Dana's cheapness didn't surprise me. People who have plenty often forget that others don't, and Dana struck me as someone who fit that category.

  Sue stirred a packet of sugar into her cup. "Dana came into the perfumery last week and bought three of my most expensive perfumes. I guess I should be grateful for the business. But, as purely an afterthought, she bought a bottle of cheap perfume for Earleen as a thank you. Some groceries would have been more appropriate and thoughtful."

  Sue blew on her tea. "Look, Earleen may have been many things, but she liked good perfumes
. I couldn't talk Dana into something nicer. She said Earleen would love that cheap perfume. That it was the scent their grandma wore and would remind Earleen of her and happy memories. Dana acted like I didn't know my business or my regular customers like Earleen. Anyway…"

  "That sounds like Dana. People like her think only other well-to-do people know and like quality." I grabbed a napkin and a cookie. "Speaking of scents—you're wearing plain vanilla? Is that the latest from Milan now? What's it called? Sugar cookie?" I raised my brow.

  Sue laughed. "No, oh no. Vanilla is my homey scent, the scent that reminds me of nothing in particular. I don't want any of my new or favorite perfumes associated with this sad time. Scent, as I've always said, is a powerful memory inducer. That's what I tell all the brides who come to me looking for something special to wear on their wedding day—get a new perfume and pick the right one and you'll forever associate it with the passion and joy of your wedding. If they ever need to spice things up in the relationship, or just need a pick-me-up, spray a little on and remember the love. I've made a whole business almost off that."

  After I finished my coffee, I had just enough time to run to the ladies' room before the meeting started up again. When I returned to the banquet room, Phyllis was talking with Colleen just inside the entrance.

  What was Phyllis doing here? She had no business with the bridal fair. She wasn't a vendor. She worked part-time as a clerk at the nursery. Which gave her more power than she should have had. She was friends with Colleen's cousin, Sandra Saylor Simmons, who managed the nursery store. All the Saylors had power in this town, but Sandra in particular. She was member of the town council. She could make my life miserable in so many ways, including getting me blacklisted from doing any sort of bridal business at Lighthouse Gardens and getting my business license pulled. I tried to stay on Sandra's good side.