Marigolds and Murder (Port Danby Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by London Lovett

  He turned around and was surprised and no doubt disappointed to find that I was the person calling him instead of one of his school mates. His friends were equally disappointed, and they continued on. “I’m sorry to stop you on your way to wherever you’re heading, but I was just wondering if you were at Virginia’s house at all yet today. I was wondering how she was doing.” It was my lead in question for what I hoped would be an easy segue into my real question.

  “I’ve been at school,” he said curtly and then seemed to think better of being impolite. “Sorry, that sounded harsh.” Franki didn’t have it easy, but she was doing a good job raising so many kids on her own. “I’m sure she’s upset. She and Beverly always fought a lot, but they were kind of there for each other. They drank coffee together almost every morning.”

  “What a shame Virginia lost her friend. So they fought a lot? Did you hear them fighting yesterday?”

  “I was only there for an hour feeding animals. But it always gets kind of tense between them when the pumpkin contest gets close. Virginia thought she was going to win this year with the special seeds and all. But every time she pulled out her binoculars to check out Bev’s patch, she got red in the face. Bev had a monstrous big pumpkin this year.” His attention was pulled away by some laughter farther down the sidewalk. It was his brother and several girls. It seemed he was anxious to join them.

  “I won’t keep you from your friends any longer, Tyler.”

  “Taylor,” he corrected and pointed ahead. “Tyler.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  I hurried back to the market, sure that Lola was going to be mad I deserted her. I walked inside. Most of the kids had cleared out. With no small amount of organization and planning the owners, Tom and Gigi Upton, had managed to fit three stores worth of goods into their tiny space. Every counter, shelf and corner had its purpose. Chrome metal tables of varying sizes were spilling over and piled high with breads, fruit and energy bars. Even the ceiling was filled with Mylar balloons, baskets and ropes of garlic. A long row of glass fronted refrigeration units glowing with fluorescent lights took up an entire wall. On a hot day, it was the only cool place in the store. It was where I found Lola still trying to decide between tuna and ham.

  She looked rightfully annoyed when I reached right past her to grab the last turkey and cheese.

  “I’m standing here agonizing about which sandwich to pick and you walk in and grab the turkey without a second blink. Maybe I wanted the last turkey.”

  I held it out, but she shook her head. “Nah, I’m going for the ham.” She reached in and grabbed the sandwich. She’d been holding the door to the refrigerator section open for so long every glass panel was fogged up. We each grabbed a bottle of lemon flavored tea from the open cooler and headed to the counter.

  “It’s nice out,” I noted. “Maybe we should eat these in the town square.”

  “I’ve got time. Sometimes that shop closes in on me.”

  Gigi Upton was a pleasant forty-something who’d moved to Port Danby with her husband Tom ten years ago. They were unable to have kids and decided to make a big move and life change, much like me. (Except I hadn’t tried the kid thing yet.) They did have two adorable dachshunds named Molly and Buddy, and Gigi was big into dressing them up. Today Buddy was sporting a dapper yellow sweater as he came around the counter for a greeting.

  Lola pet him while I paid for my sandwich. Gigi had sparkling green eyes and a friendly smile. But her smile faded quickly. “Just terrible to hear about Beverly. Still can’t believe it.”

  “Yes, very sad. Has there been any mention of a funeral? I know she didn’t have much family in the vicinity.”

  Gigi handed me back my change. “I’ve heard she has a sister on the east coast, but I don’t know much more than that. Herbert is buried at the cemetery at Graystone, so I’m sure Beverly will be too.” Gigi was visibly distraught as she spoke. “We’ll miss her around here.”

  “Yes, I’ve no doubt of that.”

  Lola paid for her lunch and we headed toward Pickford Way. The town square was more of an oblong hexagon. There were some nice mulberry trees for shade and several picnic benches sat around the perimeter. A massive three tiered fountain sat smack dab in the middle of the town square, but I had yet to see it run with water.

  Lola and I found a table that was far from the road and from the fish smell coming off the wharf. That way I could actually taste my turkey sandwich.

  My mind had been preoccupied with Beverly’s death, and I hadn’t taken note of the other people eating lunch just a table away.

  “Yoo hoo, Lola and Lacey, how are you? Lovely day, isn’t it?” Theresa’s sing song voice chirruped through the air.

  We waved back. Lola gave me a stiff brow lift. “Guess she’s a happy camper now that Beverly is gone.” She took a surreptitious peek at their table. “And just look at poor Willy picking at the bread on his sandwich. He looks like the boy who just lost his puppy, shoulders all slumped and jowls drooping like a hound dog. Not Theresa though.”

  Lola was right. William’s posture was crumpled and his head looked too heavy for his neck. Whereas Theresa was talking animatedly about something. Her hands, fancy nails and all, were fluttering around describing something to her husband, who had absolutely no interest in the topic. But that didn’t seem to faze her at all.

  “It’s true.” I picked open my sandwich package. “It looks as if they are sitting at two different tables instead of right across from each other. She looks like the yin to his yang.” I smiled at my fun analogy, but it earned a look of confusion from my lunch partner. “Never mind. But I will say, I met Theresa yesterday, and she was quite gregarious. Came right over and introduced herself. Maybe she isn’t the kind of person to get sour or down about things.” I decided to give Theresa the benefit of the doubt, but Lola was not going along with it.

  A short laugh popped from her mouth, and she quickly covered it with a napkin. “Theresa? No way. She’s one of the moodiest, quick to anger people I know. She can be bubbly and friendly one moment, but if you accidentally spill a tiny bit of hot mocha latte on her arm while you’re reaching for a stirrer, then watch out because the Dr. Jekyll side comes out.”

  I swallowed the bite I was working on. “Since there were so many specifics in that example, I’m going to assume that you spilled coffee on the woman and a tirade followed. But I think you mean Mr. Hyde.”

  Lola’s brow’s squeezed into one long question. I enjoyed spending time with Lola, but occasionally I wished she were just a touch more worldly.

  “Mr. Hyde? Dr. Jekyll was the thoughtful, intelligent side of the monster. Although, he did seem to know what he was doing when he drank the tonic. Anyhow, unless spilling hot coffee on Theresa’s arm made her more thoughtful, then I think you mean Mr. Hyde.”

  “Yep, that’s who I meant.” She scooted closer as though the trees and pigeons might be listening in on our chat. “Did I tell you I signed up on one of those dating sites?”

  “Did you? A reputable one, I hope.”

  She pulled the dill pickle out of her sandwich package and swung it around. “You bet. It’s called perverts, serial killers and creeps dot com.”

  “Very funny. Just be careful. There are a lot of nutty people out there.” I looked back toward Harbor Lane. The detective’s car was parked out front of the police station. “I think I’ll stop in to see Detective Briggs on our way back. I want to let him know about how upset Beverly was in the morning.”

  “Of course.” Lola managed to make a simple nod seem condescending. “You should tell him. It’s funny how me bringing up a dating site took your mind right over to the handsome Detective Briggs.”

  “Nothing funny about it. I have important information for him.”

  “Uh huh, very important,” she said as she took another bite of sandwich.

  Chapter 20

  While most of the shops in town had their own unique welcoming style and each multicolored facade added to the town�
��s eclectic charm, the Port Danby Police Station was sort of nondescript and dull. Of course, it wasn’t a shop and it wasn’t meant to lure customers in from the sidewalk.

  I walked through the tinted front door, with its crooked, vinyl shade pulled halfway down to keep out a blast of sunlight. There was a chin high counter that ran the length of the front room. A metal gate separated the counter into two big sections. In a rather sad attempt to be festive, someone had taken the time to tape a few paper jack-o’-lanterns to the front of the counter.

  Officer Chinmoor’s mound of black hair was visible just above the counter. He looked up to see who had walked inside.

  He stood and nodded. “How can I help you, ma’am?” Ugh, I was a ma ‘am. When did I become a ma ‘am? It seemed he suddenly recognized me. “You’re the woman who found Beverly Kent in the pumpkin patch.” He put up his hand to stop me, so he could pull my name up from memory. “Miss Pinkerton, the flower shop owner.”

  “Yes, that’s me. I was wondering if I could talk to—” Before I could finish, the office door opened and Detective Briggs walked out. Instantly, the vision of ‘little Jimmy Briggs’ popped into my head, and I had to hold back a smile.

  “Miss Pinkerton, hello.”

  “Hello, Detective Briggs. I was just walking back from lunch at the town square, and I remembered there were a few things I wanted to mention about yesterday.”

  “That’s fine. We can talk in my office. Officer Chinmoor, buzz her in.” A loud buzzer sounded and the metal gate popped open. I walked through and into the office.

  He left the door ajar and circled behind his desk to sit down. There was a manila file folder on his desk with the name Beverly Kent typed on the label.

  Briggs motioned toward a chair. “Please sit. I have news back from the coroner that might interest you.”

  I sat down in the stiff metal chair and tried to look relaxed. Somehow, the combination of the man across from me and the unforgiving hard chair made that impossible.

  Briggs opened the file. “Now, I need you to keep this quiet. This town works up enough rumors and fanciful stories on its own. They don’t need any help with that. I just thought with your medical background, and—” He stopped and looked up at me with just a hint of a grin. “Your highly curious mind,” he added. “It seems Beverly died from a blow to the back of the head. I’ve sent the hoe in for analysis and fingerprints. But the coroner said the injury to the back of her head looked consistent with the edge of something hard. So, well done on that.”

  I shifted on my seat, feeling pretty pleased with myself. “Thank you. Since it seems this has turned toward a homicide investigation, assuming Beverly did not hit herself with the garden hoe, I should let you know that I saw Beverly the morning of her death. It was early. Maybe seven. She was quite distraught about something. She was pacing around her pumpkins muttering angrily to herself. It might be that she came out to discover that her pumpkin had been severed from its vine.”

  Briggs wrote something down in the folder. “Thank you. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m on my way to Chesterton. I had a look around her truck and found a piece of notepaper that had two phone numbers on it. They belong to a garden nursery and a farm supply store, both in Chesterton. I need to retrace her steps from yesterday. I’m going to head out there after I finish up some paperwork.”

  I sat up at the word nursery. “Featherton Nursery?”

  He pulled his notepad out of his shirt pocket and looked at it. “Yes, that’s the one. It hasn’t been there long. When I was a kid, the lot was used for weekend yard sales and Christmas trees in winter.” He put the notepad back into his pocket and stood to see me out.

  I got up to leave but decided since I had his undivided attention, I’d ask him one more question. “Detective Briggs, have your read much about the Hawksworth murders?” I would have brought up my little morning adventure if it hadn’t been illegal and, well, embarrassing.

  “I’ve dabbled in some of the history. There’s quite a collection of information about it in the library. And I suppose if someone gave it a lot of time and effort, someone with a highly curious mind,” he added, with a pointed look “—could figure out what really happened.”

  Now he had my undivided attention. “What really happened? Do you mean it wasn’t a murder-suicide over an affair?”

  I liked the way those lines appeared next to his mouth when he was amused. “I’ll leave that for you to discover. The library is just a mile out on Highway 48. But be careful. The bike lane is narrow along that stretch of asphalt.”

  “I will and thank you. Now I’ve got a mystery to solve, and I do love a good mystery.” I was just about out the door when it occurred to me I’d been had. I turned back to face him. “And that’s exactly what you were hoping for, wasn’t it, Detective Briggs? Distract the silly flower shop owner with a century old murder so she’ll stay away from the Beverly Kent case.”

  He didn’t even try to hide it. “As I’ve said, you should leave police business to the police. And, for what it’s worth—” he paused. “I don’t think you’re the least bit silly, Miss Pinkerton.”

  “Well, thank you. That’s reassuring. Good day, Detective Briggs.”

  “Good day, Miss Pinkerton.”

  Chapter 21

  I’d left the police station and had not gone more than a few feet before deciding that I would take a bike ride out to Chesterton. I had every intention of following up on the detective’s suggestion that I check out the library to read about the Hawksworth murder. But not today.

  After learning that Beverly had died from being hit on the head, my mind was shooting off like fireworks. Who could have done it? And why? Did her frail, elderly neighbor and pumpkin growing nemesis club her with a garden hoe? The fact that Beverly’s prize pumpkin had been destroyed at the same time left a lot of open questions. The lantana smell on Virginia’s shoes, the pumpkin debris jammed in her gardening shears and then of course the motive all pointed toward Virginia. Could a pumpkin contest have actually driven a perfectly sweet woman to murder? And then there was overly cheery Theresa. She seemed to be one of the few long time inhabitants of Port Danby who wasn’t the least bit affected by news of the death. And poor William certainly looked devastated. An extramarital affair was always a solid motive for a murder of passion.

  I reached my shop and grabbed my bicycle. Lester waved to me through his front window as I rode past. I had no time to chat. The ride to Chesterton would take at least thirty minutes and if it got too late, I wouldn’t be back before dark. By then, my pets would be more than ready for dinner.

  I decided the shortest route was to ride toward the coast and take Pickford Way across to Culpepper Road. From there it was only a mile until the turnoff for Highway 48. Although to call it a highway was rather a stretch. It was really just a nicely paved ribbon of asphalt, divided into two lanes with a wide border on one side for bikes and pedestrians. If time permitted, I planned to stop at both the nursery and the farm supply store. I wasn’t sure what I would do once I got to those places, but something would come to me. My curiosity and deductive reasoning skills were both working in high gear.

  I pedaled past the town square and caught a quick glimpse of Mayor McGrumpy walking down the steps outside his office. He watched me as I rode by. No waves were exchanged. It seemed the man would have preferred if I’d stayed in the city with my million dollar nose.

  There was a nice downhill as I hit Culpepper Road, but that ended abruptly as I turned onto the highway. My basket wobbled back and forth as I gripped the handlebars and stood up to pedal. Several cars rode past me at a much higher speed than I expected. I was thankful for the bike lane.

  I continued on my way, listing in my head all the things I wanted to ask Featherton about his seeds. My flower shop gave me the perfect reason to inquire about his seeds and plants.

  I heard a car come up behind me and braced for the burst of wind and tiny grit storm as it flew past. Instead, it slowed. I stared st
raight ahead, not wanting to make eye contact in case it was a nutcase. I was very much alone on a quiet road and at a distinct disadvantage on a bicycle.

  The car kept pace with me but stayed just a few inches back. My heart was already pumping from the uphill climb, but it hopped into overdrive. I could almost feel it thumping against my rib cage.

  The landscape along the highway on both sides was tall, shrubby and overgrown. A perfect place to ditch a body, I thought darkly. After all, I’d been concentrating on neighbors and motives and hadn’t given any thought to the prospect of a mad killer running loose in town.

  I kept my eyes glued ahead of me. The sign welcoming people to Chesterton was still a mere spot in the distance. I pedaled harder. The car pulled up next to me, but I kept my focus on the tiny sign.

  “Miss Pinkerton.” His voice sounded heavy with dismay, but I was so entirely relieved to hear his familiar tone, I didn’t care.

  I kept pedaling but slowed to catch my breath. “Detective Briggs, you scared me.”

  “I apologize.” He pulled ahead and stopped the car in the bike path. I had no choice but to stop.

  He stepped out of his car and leaned against the back of it, crossing his arms and his ankles. “Just wondering why you happen to be traveling to Chesterton. You didn’t mention you had business there when you were in my office.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “No, I think I would have remembered.” He tapped the side of his head. “I’m a detective, after all.”

  “Yes, I can tell by the specially marked license plate on your car. Now, if you don’t mind, Detective Briggs, I have some errands to run in Chesterton, and I’d like to be on my way.” I stopped and gave him my best wide-eyed blink. “Unless of course there’s an ordinance that says a person cannot ride their bike from Port Danby to Chesterton.”

  He pushed off his car. From my vantage point on my bike seat, he looked extra tall as he looked sternly down at me. “As I said before, Miss Pinkerton, leave the police business to the police.”