Of Spice and Men

by Sarah Fox

  “That’s probably the case, although I don’t know what type of journalist he is.” Patricia poured the tea. “What’s happened with that poor woman’s death, anyway? Does the sheriff have any idea who’s responsible?”

  She passed a cup of tea to me and I thanked her before saying, “I’m not sure. I know he questioned at least one person, but she wasn’t arrested.”

  I wondered if that would change soon, but then I did my best to push those thoughts aside. I didn’t want to think about Alyssa at the moment.

  Changing the subject, I brought up the approaching storm, and from there we moved on to chat about other things as we sipped our tea and enjoyed the delicious bread, still warm from the oven. As I savored the last morsel of my bread, we heard the sound of the front door opening and someone entering the house.

  Clearly puzzled, Patricia glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. She was about to push back her chair when Sienna came down the hall and into the kitchen.

  “Sienna, honey, what are you doing home from school?” Patricia asked.

  Sienna sniffed, and I realized that her eyes were red-rimmed.

  “Are you sick?” Patricia got to her feet.

  Sienna shook her head. “It’s Logan.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s gone missing.” A tear escaped from Sienna’s eye, and she wiped it with the back of her hand. “Hey, Marley,” she said as she brushed away another tear.

  “Hey,” I returned. “What do you mean Logan’s gone missing?”

  Patricia pulled out a chair and Sienna sank into it. “They told us at school this morning,” she said as her mom hurried into the kitchen. “They think he ran away from his mom’s place in Portland.”

  Patricia returned to the table with a slice of cinnamon bread on a plate, which she set in front of Sienna. “When did this happen?” she asked, resting a hand on her daughter’s back.

  “Over the weekend. He left for soccer practice one morning and never came back. And then his mom found out that he never showed up for practice.”

  “But his mom thinks he left of his own accord?” I asked.

  Sienna tore a piece of bread off the slice on her plate. “That’s what the principal told us. Some of his things were missing. Clothes and stuff.”

  Patricia returned to her seat at the table. “Why would he run away?”

  Sienna blinked back fresh tears. “He never wanted to go to Portland in the first place. He hates living with his stepdad. He used to be in the military and he’s crazy strict, sometimes downright mean.”

  “So it wasn’t his choice to move?” I guessed.

  Sienna shook her head as she nibbled on a morsel of bread. “He and some other guys got caught smoking pot on the school grounds. It was the first time he’d tried smoking anything, but his dad totally freaked and sent him off to live with his mom.”

  She pushed her plate away, most of her slice of bread uneaten. She tried to blink back her tears again, but this time they spilled over and trickled down her cheeks. “The principal was hoping Logan had been in touch with one of his friends here, but nobody’s heard from him. I tried texting him, but he didn’t respond.” She buried her face in her hands. “He wanted to stay friends after we broke up, but I didn’t want anything to do with him. If I’d been nicer, if I’d been a friend to him, maybe he would have told me what he was going through. Maybe he wouldn’t have run away.”

  She broke down into full-out sobs. Patricia jumped up and put her arms around her daughter. “It’s not your fault, sweetie. Not at all.”

  Sienna continued to cry.

  Quietly, I got up from the table and caught Patricia’s eye. “I’ll leave you two alone. Thanks for the tea and snack.”

  “Thanks for coming by.” Patricia gave me a grateful look as she hugged Sienna.

  I slipped out the back door as Patricia spoke to her daughter in a quiet voice. I felt terrible for Sienna, but I knew she was in the best hands possible. As for Logan, I couldn’t help but worry about him. I didn’t know him well, but the thought of a fairly sheltered sixteen-year-old out on his own wasn’t comforting. Who knew what trouble could befall him?

  Down on the beach, I stopped and stood looking out over the ocean. I closed my eyes and listened to the stormy waves crashing ashore and hoped that everything would take a turn for the better before long. Unfortunately, that hope wasn’t a high one.

  Chapter 12

  When I eventually made my way back along the beach, I didn’t stop at home, instead continuing on toward town. I needed to pick up a few items from the general store, and wanted to get that errand out of the way before the storm hit full force. Once I left the beach for the street, it took me only a few more minutes to reach the store on Pacific Street. Like many other shops in the heart of town, the general store had old-style charm that added to Wildwood Cove’s character. Wide wooden steps led up to the covered front porch and old advertising signs adorned the weathered walls of the building. A wrought-iron bench sat beneath one of the large front windows, and hanging baskets displayed the last of the year’s colorful blooms.

  I climbed the steps and paused to pat the head of a golden retriever lying outside the door, waiting for its owner. The dog wagged its tail and gazed up at me with a big doggie grin on its face, raising my spirits, even if just a little. I got down on my knees and fussed over the dog some more, making us both happier. When I stepped into the store a minute later, the door falling shut behind me, I ran my fingers through my hair, untangling the mess the wind had made of my curls. I greeted Mr. Casey, who ran the store with his wife, and grabbed a shopping basket from the pile near the door. Wandering the aisles, I added the occasional item to my basket, starting with batteries for my flashlight and a box of candles, knowing there was a good chance of a power outage during the storm.

  I’d just added a small bag of dry cat food to my basket when I turned a corner and bumped into something solid. Large hands rested on my shoulders, steadying me as I regained my balance.

  “Ivan,” I said with surprise when I looked up and realized that I’d walked right into the burly chef. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Ivan removed his hands from my shoulders. “Ready for the storm?” he asked.

  I held up my shopping basket so he could see the batteries and candles. “Getting a few last-minute supplies.”

  He nodded with approval. “Don’t forget about the taste testing on Thursday. Come with an appetite.”

  “I will,” I assured him. “I’m looking forward to it. Oh,” I added while I still had his attention, “I’m having a gathering at my place two Saturdays from now to watch the original version of The Perishing. I’ll be inviting everyone from work and a few others, like Brett and Lisa. Will you come?”

  “Let me know what time. I’ll bring some food.”

  “Great,” I said, pleasantly surprised that he’d agreed so quickly.

  He nodded again and strode past me, heading down the aisle.

  That had been a decent conversation, I realized. There were times when I could barely get three words out of the chef, although I was growing used to his reticence and I knew he wasn’t as surly as he often seemed. The last few months had taught me that beneath his bulging muscles, tattoos, and near-permanent scowl was a genuinely good man. He didn’t always approve of everything I did, especially when I was investigating crimes, but he looked out for me, and I knew I was lucky to have someone like him watching my back.

  When I had everything I needed, I took my basket up to the counter near the front of the store. Mrs. Casey was now behind the register, her husband having disappeared into the stockroom at the back.

  “Quite the show this whole movie thing has turned out to be, don’t you think?” the fifty-something woman said to me, her short auburn curls ruffling as another customer opened the door to leave the store, letting in a gust of wind.

  “You mean because of what happened Sunday night?” I asked.

 
“That, and then this morning as well.”

  That got my full attention. “What happened this morning?”

  “I hear the sheriff showed up wanting to question a young woman. She balled her eyes out and was nearly hyperventilating—so one of my customers told me, anyway.” She finished ringing up my items and packed them into the cloth shopping bag I’d pulled out of my tote.

  “Was she arrested?” I asked.

  “Don’t know about that.” Mrs. Casey held up my receipt. “In the bag?”

  “Yes, please.” I lifted the bag of purchases off the counter. “Do you happen to know who it was the sheriff wanted to question? Was it an actress?”

  “One of the crew, I believe,” Mrs. Casey replied.

  A woman around the same age as Mrs. Casey came up to the register and placed her goods on the counter. “Have you seen the actor playing the lead character?” she said to the shopkeeper, her eyes bright. “Now, that’s one mighty fine-looking man.”

  Mrs. Casey fanned herself. “You’re telling me!”

  Leaving the women to gush over Chase Lowman, I headed out the door, glancing over my shoulder and sending a wave in Ivan’s direction as I went. The chef was on his way to the cash counter and I had to smother a smile as I wondered what he would think about the women’s conversation. Somehow I doubted he’d be impressed by the fact that they were smitten with the man starring in the film he believed was an affront to the original.

  The dog was no longer waiting outside the shop, so I didn’t stop on the porch this time, instead jogging down the steps to the sidewalk. As I walked along the street in the direction of Wildwood Road, I considered what Mrs. Casey had told me before the other woman had steered the conversation to Chase.

  Ray had shown up to question someone from the movie production that morning, and if Mrs. Casey’s information was correct, this time it hadn’t been Alyssa. I’d be passing the trailers and craft services tent on my way home, so maybe I could stop and ask around. So far no one had objected to me hanging around and talking to people, and hopefully the gossip was flowing there as freely as it was in the general store.

  When I turned onto Wildwood Road and approached the line of trailers, I kept my eyes peeled for a familiar face, figuring it would be easiest to approach someone I’d already spoken to. It didn’t take long for me to spot two such faces. Jeanie Jacobs, the hairstylist, was hugging Nicola and patting her back, only a stone’s throw away from the craft services tent.

  I started in their direction, but someone stepped into my path, blocking my way.

  “The cast and crew don’t want to be bothered by fans.”

  I recognized the redheaded young man as the one who’d been sent to fetch Alyssa’s latte.

  “I’m not a fan.” I tried to step around him, but he blocked my way again.

  “I get that you want pictures and autographs,” he said with a condescending smirk on his face, “but they really don’t have time for those things.”

  “I’m not here for pictures or autographs.”

  He smirked again. “Sure.”

  “Leave her alone, Dennis.” Nicola had stepped out of Jeanie’s arms. She wiped at the tears on her cheeks as she addressed the redheaded man again. “Why don’t you go do something useful?”

  Dennis’s face flushed bright red and the smirk dropped from his face. He looked like he wanted to say something scathing, but instead he stomped off.

  “Who is he?” I asked as I approached the women.

  “One of the production assistants,” Jeanie said. “He struts around like he’s the director, though.”

  “I can’t stand him.” Nicola wiped her cheeks again. Her mascara had smeared, and her eyes were red.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her.

  She blinked back fresh tears. “It’s been a tough morning.”

  “Because the sheriff wanted to question you?” It was just a guess that Nicola was the woman Mrs. Casey had spoken of, but considering her current state, I figured it was a good one.

  “Does the whole world know about that?” Nicola sounded distressed.

  “Small town,” I said apologetically.

  Nicola sighed heavily as Jeanie patted her back again. “I hope it doesn’t get spread all over the Internet. I didn’t kill Christine. I never would have considered hurting her.”

  “Of course you didn’t, honey,” Jeanie said, but her attention had drifted to the hair-and-makeup trailer, where a young man and woman were waiting outside the door. “I have to go, and you’ll be needed soon, too, don’t forget,” she said.

  Nicola nodded and Jeanie hurried off toward the trailer.

  “Why did the sheriff want to question you?” I asked Nicola, hoping she wouldn’t clam up on me.

  “My fingerprints were found on the remains of Christine’s sketchbook.”

  “The one that was burned in the fire?”

  Nicola nodded as she wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie. “But of course my fingerprints were on the book. Christine always left it lying around and I was forever having to move it out of the way.”

  “I guess the sheriff thought you had a motive, too,” I said, trying to keep the statement casual.

  She stifled a hiccup and frowned. “Because her death got me a promotion? That’s the weakest motive ever, especially in my case.”

  “Why? Isn’t it good for your career to go from the assistant to the lead artist?”

  “Of course it is, but I didn’t need Christine to die to advance my career. I have another job lined up for next month. I’m going to be the lead special-effects makeup artist for that production. Why kill someone to achieve what’s going to happen next month anyway?” Her eyes welled with tears again, and this time when she wiped them away, she seemed angry. “Now all my colleagues are suspicious of me, and this whole town knows I’m a suspect.”

  “Do you have an alibi? That would get you off the suspect list.”

  Her frown deepened. “No, I don’t have an alibi.”

  “So you weren’t with the crew members who were at the Windward Pub that night?” I asked, knowing full well that she had been for part of the time.

  “I was, but I left early. I had a migraine.”

  At least that part of the story matched with what the waitress had told me.

  “Did you go straight back to your hotel? If somebody saw you…”

  “I went for a walk on the beach. Alone.” Her eyes grew sharp and wary. “Are you a blogger or something?”

  “No,” I said, surprised by the question. “I run the pancake house by the beach.”

  “You could still be a blogger. You’ve been hanging around here a lot. Maybe I should have let Dennis run you off. Are you planning to spread all this over the Internet?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I hope that’s true.”

  She didn’t give me a chance to assure her that it was, not that it would have done much good. She strode past me and crossed a stretch of grass to intercept Del Harris as he exited the craft services tent. Nicola took Del’s arm and leaned in close to him, saying something as she nodded in my direction. When Del saw me, he frowned, but then Nicola was leading him farther away.

  Not at all sure that I wanted to know what Nicola was saying about me, I decided to continue on my way. Before I took a step, however, I changed my mind and decided to retrace my path to Pacific Street. I’d remembered that I needed a loaf of bread, and the best place to get that was at Marielle’s Bakery.

  But first I remained in place for a moment, watching Nicola and Del as they headed away from me. Nicola had dropped Del’s arm and put some distance between them, although she was still walking with him.

  “I told you I was with Howard,” I heard Del say before they disappeared from sight around the corner of the craft services tent.

  I set off in the opposite direction, mulling things over. Although Nicola had convinced me that she didn’t need Christine dead in order to advance her career, I wasn’t ready t
o take her off my suspect list. She was hiding something, of that I was sure, and I suspected that it had to do with her lack of an alibi. Was she really alone on the beach after dark or had she concocted that story to cover the fact that she’d killed Christine after leaving her colleagues at the Windward Pub? As for Del, he’d certainly looked worried when he cast that glance in my direction while Nicola whispered to him. Had the two of them committed the murder together?

  I wasn’t sure why they would have teamed up to kill Christine, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. It was something to keep in mind, at any rate.

  As I was about to leave the line of trailers behind me, I spotted a familiar figure up ahead. Ivan was standing on the corner of Pacific Street and Wildwood Road, talking with another man. At first I thought the other man was Chase Lowman, based on his build and hair, but when I caught sight of his profile, I realized it wasn’t the actor.

  “Excuse me!”

  Hearing the voice behind me, I glanced over my shoulder. I wasn’t sure if the words had been directed at me, but then I saw Pearl Lam, the makeup artist, waving at me. I stopped and waited as she hurried along the sidewalk in her high-heeled boots.

  “We met the other day,” Pearl said when she’d drawn closer.

  “I remember,” I said with a smile.

  “And you were here when the sheriff was searching Alyssa’s trailer.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you know Alyssa’s ex, right? The gorgeous blond guy?”

  “Yes,” I said, wondering where she was going with this. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  “Oh, perfect. Isn’t he the sheriff’s son or something?”

  “His nephew.”

  “So do you have insider information on the murder investigation?”

  “No,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I’m just concerned.” She twisted one of the many rings on her fingers. “You know, it’s not so nice knowing there could be a killer among my colleagues. How can we know we’re safe? I was hoping the sheriff was getting close to making an arrest.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said truthfully. “All I know is that he’s questioned a couple of your colleagues.”