Marigolds and Murder (Port Danby Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by London Lovett

  He fidgeted with the edges of his coat a second and then burbled out an excuse. “I take my job of keeping the citizens safe very seriously. You can never be too careful.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, trying not to let the sarcasm drip too heavily.

  Kingston made a cooing sound, signaling that he wanted a piece of the pumpkin bread.

  It took the mayor a good long moment and a pair of spectacles pulled from his coat pocket to convince himself he was looking at a crow. “What on earth is that?”

  “That’s Kingston, my pet crow.” I begrudgingly broke off a piece of the pumpkin bread and walked it over to him. He plucked it from my fingertips and danced back and forth along his perch as he finished it. I gave a thumbs up to Elsie to let her know he’d enjoyed it.

  Mayor Price’s neck had darkened as if he was more than a little perturbed. Either that, or his collar was too tight, like the coat and shirt stretched around his belly. “I’m not entirely sure it’s legal for you to have a wild animal inside a place of business.”

  It seemed my chance for a good first impression with the mayor was going south very quickly. But then, how much power could a small town mayor wield?

  “Well, Mayor Price, until you can provide me with the exact ordinance number that states a pet bird is not allowed in a place of business, you can expect Kingston to be sitting in that window during business hours. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to do to get ready for my grand opening.” I headed to the door, in case he didn’t know where it was.

  I began a sigh of relief as he seemed to take my hint but then sucked that air right back in when he stopped three feet from the door. “It seems rather strange for a woman to give up a six figure income in the city to start a flower shop in a small town.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was getting at. His manner and suspicious tone seemed to have caught Elsie off guard too. She was, for once, quite speechless.

  But I had learned early on how to speak up for myself. I stepped toward him. “Mayor Price,” I said in a tone that left no doubt of where my words were heading. “I can assure you there is nothing untoward about a successful, creative woman seeking a change of scenery and career. Now, as I’ve said before, I have a great deal to accomplish before I open the door of Pink’s Flowers. And once the doors are open, I think you’ll find that I’m a hardworking, productive member of the town. Just like Elsie standing next to me.”

  He cleared his throat but didn’t say anything else except ‘good day, ladies’ as he walked out. I took a few deep breaths to cool down before turning back to Elsie.

  “You never mentioned that the mayor is, should I say, less than charming.”

  Elsie waved off his rude inquiry. “He just doesn’t have enough to do. I’m sure once he gets to know you, he’ll change his attitude. Although, I will warn you that he’s pretty much a grumpy bear all of the time.”

  “I’ll make note of that and avoid him.”

  Elsie pulled an orange ribbon off the counter. For no apparent reason, she tied her gray streaked hair up with it. “So is it true, Pink?”

  “Is what true?”

  “That they called you the million dollar nose?”

  I smiled weakly. “I’m not really sure how it came to be. I think there was a rumor going around the perfume industry that Georgio Perfumery had taken out a million dollar insurance policy on my nose. It wasn’t true of course, but one thing led to another and the next thing I knew I was the million dollar nose. Not exactly a girl’s dream nickname.”

  “I think it’s fabulous.” Elsie walked over and checked her new hairdo out in the reflection of the front window. “My goodness, Les must be brewing extra strong coffee today. I can smell it clear through this window pane.”

  “I think it’s because of the fan he set up in his front window. He’s spreading the aroma out over the sidewalk.” I went on with the explanation, not noticing Elsie’s change in posture. Her thin shoulders were rigid like the arms of a clothes hanger.

  She continued to stare out the window. “He’s set up a fan, has he? That would explain why his tables are full. Well, we’ll see about that.” She marched out without saying good-bye.

  Chapter 10

  After the rough start with the mayor and a bit of a sidewalk war between Elsie and Lester, I had managed to get a respectable amount of work done. I locked up and headed out. My legs were tired from the morning ride, but I’d kept firm to my decision to stop for eggs. Since I’d also eaten a respectable amount of pumpkin bread to go along with the respectable day of work, I decided to take the longer more scenic route past the beach.

  There was still plenty of sunlight so rather than fly toward home, Kingston decided to follow along as I rode down Pickford Way to Culpepper Road. A light fog seemed to be gathering along the coast line, signaling a chilly night at home. A hot frittata would be perfect.

  The ride leading away from the coast on Culpepper Road was at a slight incline. I squeezed the rubber grips on my handlebars and stood to pump the bike along. Kingston flew on ahead. He swooped down over the verdant pastures and disturbed a few busy hens as they finished picking the grass clean of insects. In the distance, Maggie’s wobbly mail truck turned the corner at Dawson Grove. The farm with the eggs was just past that corner.

  Halfway up from the beach, Culpepper Road branched off into Highway 48. The highway was the shortest path to the neighboring town of Chesterton. Chesterton was about five times the size of Port Danby and with more stores and businesses. Whenever I couldn’t find something in Port Danby, I headed to Chesterton. It was a far less charming town, and the stores and business district looked much more like a city.

  I’d lost sight of Kingston and wondered if he’d gotten bored and decided to fly home. By the time I reached the egg farm, my heart rate was pounding at a pretty good clip from the uphill climb. I stopped in front of the sign to catch my breath. Just as I was about to climb off my bike and walk up to the door, a blood curdling scream cracked the quiet countryside.

  My heart raced even faster as I hopped back on my bike and headed in the direction of the scream. By the time I rounded the corner onto Dawson Grove, poor, frightened Maggie was standing next to her mail truck, bracing her hand against it to keep from collapsing to her knees. Something terrible had frightened her so badly, her face was nearly as white as her truck. Her scream had been loud enough to send squirrels to their holes and chickens back to their coops, but no one had emerged from either of the two farmhouses on Dawson Grove to find out what was happening.

  I, myself, was never one for remaining a useless bystander. Maggie, a forty something woman, who lived with her elderly parents just west of the town square, always wore a cheery smile as she delivered mail up and down Harbor Lane. She had been one of the first people to introduce herself when I arrived in town. But the usual cheer was gone, and she looked close to fainting.

  I nearly jumped off while the bike was still moving. “Maggie, what is it?” I raced toward the truck. Maggie’s shaky hand took hold of mine, but she couldn’t speak.

  “You should sit down.”

  Maggie shook her head and seemed to be edging toward a panic attack. She struggled to take deep breaths. At the same time, she was trying hard to get words out. When nothing came, she resorted to pointing. Her finger shook like it was rubber as she pointed in the direction of the pumpkin patch on the Kent farm.

  “I think she’s dead,” she sputtered between shallow breaths. “I think she’s dead.”

  I took her by the arm and walked her to the driver’s seat. “Sit down.” A crumpled brown lunch bag was wedged in next to the driver’s seat. I reached over and grabbed it. I dumped the leftover bread crusts out of the bag and blew into it to open it up. “Here, Maggie, breathe into this while I go check things out.”

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and suddenly wondered if the same emergency number was used in Port Danby as in the big city. After all, the town was so small and interconnected, a person could almo
st stand on a porch with a megaphone to call for the police or an ambulance. I only hoped that neither was needed, and I would just find that someone had fainted or fallen asleep under a tree.

  Those hopes were instantly dashed as the grim scene in front of me took shape.

  I instantly recognized the pink flowered blouse, even hidden as it was by the large fingered leaves of the pumpkin vines. I hopped over the tangled stems and round squashes and quickly recounted all the steps and procedures for cardiopulmonary resuscitation. It had been a few years since medical school, but I was confident I could help.

  I reached the woman and stumbled back a bit, not expecting such a horrid sight. The woman lay mostly face down with half her head inside a massive smashed pumpkin. I’d seen enough cadavers in medical school to feel quite certain that I was looking at a dead woman.

  I dialed my phone and held it to my ear as I crouched down next to the woman. I pressed my fingers against her carotid artery and waited for some sign of life. There was none.

  “Hello, yes, connect me to the Port Danby police department. And hurry please.”

  Chapter 11

  It took me a few minutes to gather my wits after coming upon the horrible scene in the pumpkin patch. Some of the adrenaline had drained from my body, and my heart rate was adjusting to normal. While it seemed the entire scene was a tragic freak accident or heart attack, I decided not to touch anything.

  I sat with Maggie at the mail truck. She, too, seemed to be catching her breath from the shock.

  “I’m glad this was my last stop for the day,” Maggie’s voice was thin and shaky. “I don’t think I could have finished otherwise.”

  I patted her back. “I’m sure the police will just ask a few questions and then help you get safely back to the post office.”

  Maggie’s eyes and nose were red and puffy. She shook her head. “Poor Bev. And she was so excited about that giant pumpkin. Hers was the biggest this year. She was a shoe in for first prize.” She sniffled once. “And now it seems that the pumpkin killed her. It looked like the thing was eating her head.” She covered her face. It seemed it would be some time before Maggie wiped away the vision of Beverly lying dead in the patch with her head inside the pumpkin. It would be a while before I forgot it too.

  “Maggie, does Bev have any family nearby? Next of kin, perhaps?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I occasionally deliver letters and packages from someone named Susan Kent in Baltimore, a sister, maybe. Beverly and her husband had always wanted kids, but it never happened for them. And then Herbert died three years ago of heart failure. Poor thing has been alone ever since.” Maggie reached for a tissue in her pocket and blew her nose. “Poor, poor Bev. She was looking so forward to the contest. She was sure she would win first place.”

  The plain car with the special plates that was always parked in front of the Port Danby Police Station pulled up to the farm with the black and white patrol car directly behind it. An ambulance with twirling red lights but no siren rolled around the corner and parked in front of the police cars.

  The tall, lanky officer, who I’d seen drive past the shop in the squad car several times but who I had yet to meet, climbed out of his car. He straightened his gun belt with authority and pushed back his shoulders. He had a baby face. I doubted he was more than twenty-five. He also had a severe lack of chin and just a bit too much forehead. The few times I’d seen him I thought he looked a bit oafish. But it was entirely possible I had misjudged him.

  Detective Briggs, who I so far only knew from the very brief glance exchange in the diner, got out of the car carrying a notepad. He seemed to be the smooth, cold cream to the young officer’s hot coffee.

  The young officer fidgeted again with his belt and stopped a good ten feet from the patch to view the body. “Everyone stand clear,” he ordered in a loud, commanding voice even though Maggie and I were the only people included in ‘everyone’. “This is officially a crime scene,” he barked.

  “No it’s not,” Detective Briggs quipped as he walked past the officer.

  I now stood by my earlier oafish judgment.

  The medics trudged across the dirt with their equipment boxes. A waste of effort, unfortunately. I decided to follow the detective into the patch.

  He heard me trouncing through the leaves behind him and glanced back. “Are you the woman who called?”

  “Yes, I am. She is quite dead, I assure you.”

  He looked a bit miffed that I’d already decided something that was better left to a pro. He crouched down and placed his fingers over the carotid artery. “As you said ‘quite dead’.”

  He stood up and walked around the smashed pumpkin to get a view of it from all sides. The medics drew closer with their equipment. The detective glanced up from the grisly scene. “You can take that stuff back to the ambulance. We’ll need the gurney after I examine the scene. I’m going to need you to take her to the morgue.”

  The detective looked around for what I could only assume was his second in command. The officer had not moved closer to the deceased. He busied himself, rather unnecessarily, drawing a dirt line around the patch with a stick. It seemed more than possible that he had not seen too many dead bodies in his young life. They looked decidedly more real in person than on a movie or television show.

  “Officer Chinmoor,” Detective Briggs said sternly.

  The officer didn’t look up from his task as he dragged the stick to the far end of the patch. “Officer Chinmoor,” Detective Briggs said again a little louder. Something told me he was a man who rarely raised his voice and for that matter, rarely showed emotion. He’d walked onto the scene as if he was walking into a market for a quart of milk, as if finding a dead woman in a pumpkin patch happened every day. Which, from the nervous fidgeting of his partner, I could only assume was not true.

  “Excuse me,” I asked quietly. “Did you say Officer Chinmoor?” It was the completely wrong time and place to smile, but I had a hard time keeping my lips straight. I caught a flicker of amusement in the detective’s eyes. Apparently, the irony of the name was not lost on him either. But he was losing his cool with the young man.

  “Charlie,” he snapped and finally got the officer’s attention. His chin receded back even farther as he stared open mouthed at his boss. “I was just going to mark off the crime scene before I get the yellow caution tape.”

  “No, I need you to get the evidence camera. I need to get a few pictures before we move the body. And ask Maggie if Beverly had any friends or family that need to be called.”

  “Right.” Officer Chinmoor was more than happy to pull himself away from the scene.

  I, on the other hand, became more intrigued. I rounded the pumpkin and stooped down to get a closer look at her head. Orange stringy pumpkin goo was plastered across her forehead. I gently pressed my fingers around her skull.

  I could feel an annoyed gaze raining down on me from above. “What are you doing?”

  I stood up. “I don’t feel any contusions or dents on her forehead.”

  “Well—” he stopped and looked at me. “Miss?”

  I stuck out my hand but withdrew it when I saw it was covered in pumpkin slime. “Lacey Pinkerton. You can call me Lacey or some people call me Pink.”

  “I’ll stick with Miss Pinkerton.”

  My shoulders drooped. “Right. Then I have no choice but to call you Detective Briggs.”

  “Yes, that’s what I want you to call me.” He wrote down my name, which I found slightly insulting because I rather hoped he would just remember it. But then, this was official business. “So, you were the first on the scene?”

  “Well, no. That would be Maggie. She was delivering mail down Dawson Grove.”

  He scribbled notes as I spoke. “And where were you?”

  “I had stopped at the egg farm for some fresh eggs. I was in the mood for a frittata. But I never got the eggs because I heard Maggie scream.”

  He looked around. “Then the bicycle belongs to you?
”

  “Yes. Now about her skull—don’t you think there should be some sign of damage to her forehead if she actually smashed through the pumpkin? I mean, look how thick the shell is. That must be a hundred and fifty pound pumpkin. It was expected to win first prize.”

  He looked up from his notepad. “First prize?”

  “The pumpkin contest?”

  “Oh, right.” It seemed the Port Danby Pumpkin Contest was of little interest to the man. “And you’re right. The pumpkin shell is very thick for a human skull to break it.”

  I held back a tiny smile. “It also seems like she had to do quite a bit of contortion if she tripped and fell into it. It seems her hands would have at least been out to stop her, but they are both in strange positions.” Beverly’s left arm was beneath her. Only the fingertips were visible. Her right arm was relaxed and draped over her body as if she was just sleeping.

  Officer Chinmoor returned with the camera. He stretched his arm out as far as it would go to hand the camera to Detective Briggs.

  Briggs snatched it from his outstretched hand. “What are you doing, Chinmoor? Are you worried she’s going to hop up and grab you? Go back to the squad car and call the morgue. Let them know to expect a body.”

  “Right.” He scurried off, leaving a small trail of dust behind his shiny, regulation shoes.

  Briggs shook his head.

  “Your partner seems a bit squeamish about seeing a dead person,” I noted.

  “Yes, doesn’t he? And he’s not my partner.” His dark brows were smooth and one arched up over his brown eyes. “I work alone.”

  “Of course. Although, I couldn’t help but notice that while her skull seemed to be mostly intact, there’s a small clump of blood at the back of her head.”

  Briggs walked around to get a look at the back of her head. He lifted the camera and took a picture. “Are you trained in forensics or criminal science, Miss Pinkerton?”

  “No, not at all. However, I did attend two years of medical school before I had to give it up.”