Murder Borrowed, Murder Blue

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  * * *

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be back.” Rachel bustled around the kitchen with a Valentine’s Day apron tied around her minuscule waist. She was putting the finishing touches on Dakota’s comfort food menu. Her words were clear and convincing, but her eyes told a different story.

  “He was pretty pissed, Rach.” I stopped chopping onions and wiped an itch on my nose with the back of my hand. “Not that I blame him.” The dull ache in my stomach that had appeared as Garrett strode out the door sharpened to a stab I felt each time my heart beat.

  “Well, at least now we can go to L.A.”

  “Rachel! How could you?” I put down my knife and turned to my sister. “I don’t want to break up with Garrett.”

  “And I don’t want to pass up this opportunity because you’re unsure what to do!” Rachel sighed and wiped her hands on the pretty heart and cupid apron.

  “Let’s make a pro and con list and decide once and for all.” Her eyes narrowed. “Together.”

  We washed up and put away the makings of a comfort food feast and settled into the parlor. I nestled a legal pad in my lap and stared into the licking flames of the fire. The bedrooms upstairs for our guests featured realistic electric inserts to provide warmth and ambiance. They were insurance-friendly, as there was no chance of a guest dozing off and creating a fire hazard. But downstairs, in the public part of the B and B, several original fireplaces remained. They’d been carefully reappointed and lovingly restored by my contractor, Jesse Flowers. Most days of the week guests could be found lingering in front of the real fireplaces in the parlor, library, and dining room.

  The parlor held the most impressive specimen, a floor-to-ceiling tiled wonder of a hearth with a peacock mosaic in a rainbow of colors. Real flames reflected off the minute glass tiles in pleasing shades of iridescent violet, turquoise, and electric blue. Wood hissed and popped. A single page fluttered out of the fire, like a bird with flaming wings alight, the edges curling.

  “What is that?” Rachel jumped up and I stamped it out.

  I picked up the brittle page, desiccated and singed around the edges from its time in the hearth.

  “It’s the plant encyclopedia.” I held up the page, a lump forming in my throat.

  “The bleeding heart entry.” Rachel gingerly took the page from me and turned as the doorbell rang.

  “That’ll be Truman, here for the piece of the tiara.”

  “Not a moment too soon.”

  * * *

  Truman collected the two pieces of evidence and ferreted them away in brown paper evidence bags. He refused to make either heads or tails of the items, but the grim set of his jaw told me everything.

  “How’s the investigation going?” I asked with a tentative lilt to my query.

  “It’s going,” was his gruff answer.

  Not so hot, then.

  Truman swept from the B and B, and I readied myself for filming to start. Rachel and I resumed our ministrations in the kitchen. Ellie arrived and sat for makeup, Iris in tow.

  “You seem rather pensive, dear.” Iris cocked her fuzzy head and took a seat in the kitchen while I put the finishing touches on the salmon mac and cheese. I sprinkled parmesan and herbed breadcrumbs atop the pasta and fish.

  “I’m trying to decide what to do with my life in the midst of a murder investigation,” I blurted out.

  “Follow your heart, Mallory. That’s the best advice I can give.” Iris taste-tested our batch of bacon green beans and sighed with pleasure. “Are you having man trouble?”

  I choked on the sip of water I’d just taken and sputtered. “Um, er, yes,” I finally admitted. “Rachel and I have been offered an opportunity to film a destination reality show,” I reminded her.

  A jealous gleam lit up Iris’s dark brown eyes.

  “Well, you should take the offer, then. It’s nearly impossible to break into show business.”

  “But I’d have to leave Port Quincy and the B and B for half the year.” I glanced around the kitchen I’d grown to love and out at the snow-capped grounds of the strange old mansion I’d made my home.

  “And your fellow, Garrett, wasn’t too happy with the proposition.”

  I smiled at Iris’s labeling of Garrett as my fellow and nodded. “I kind of hid the offer from him.” I felt a warm flush spread across my face, no doubt obliterating my freckles. “And he eventually found out from Dakota, not me. I should have told him first.”

  Iris nodded sagely. “You should swallow your pride and chase after him, Mallory. Don’t let him get away.”

  I smiled again at her advice and sprinkled chopped rosemary atop the fancy mac and cheese. “It’s not that simple.”

  “No, love never is.”

  I looked up, startled.

  Was this love?

  My relationship with Garrett had certainly been progressing, and I adored spending time with him. Was I ready to declare I was in love?

  Iris broke into my thoughts with another sigh. “Ellie shouldn’t have let Owen get away, but it is what it is.”

  “Excuse me?” I dusted the rest of the breadcrumbs and rosemary from my hands and wheeled around.

  “My Ellie and Owen were engaged once, you know. Two years ago.” Her face curdled and her mouth twisted down in a grade-A frown. “But Owen couldn’t get over Dakota, and he called it off.”

  So this confirmed the weird tension and chemistry I’d felt coursing between Owen and Ellie in the nursery greenhouse like an invisible charge. It also confirmed that Owen had still recently held a candle for Dakota.

  “But,” Iris continued brightly, her face now a mask of false cheeriness, “that doesn’t matter now. Ellie is headmistress at Dunlap, and the interim host of I Do. I’m sure she’ll wow them and be offered a permanent spot, and then she’ll have two amazing opportunities to choose from.”

  I kind of doubted I Do would make it past this bizarre episode, but I didn’t share my thoughts with Iris.

  Her face faltered for a moment. “Dakota better not ruin it this time.”

  A chill shivered down my vertebrae as I caught an unadulterated flash of hate in Iris’s eyes. I figured it was now or never to ask one thing that had been bothering me.

  “Do you think there’s a chance Ginger and Owen were an item?” I kept quiet about my sister’s unconfirmed fling with Owen.

  A cunning look of realization stole over Iris’s face. She didn’t look surprised. She’d opened her mouth to reply when the camerawoman entered the room. She began filming, and I momentarily forgot my question. And maybe I was wrong about I Do getting cancelled. Ellie was very good. We wrapped up, and Ellie and Iris left Thistle Park on foot, clad in high snow boots.

  Rachel and I cleaned the kitchen. We worked for half an hour in companionable silence.

  “What were you and Iris talking about?” Rachel finally said as we hung up our dishtowels. “It looked pretty intense.”

  “Did you know Ellie and Owen were engaged?”

  Rachel leaned against the counter and frowned. She shook her head slowly, her caramel-colored bun coming undone. “No, he didn’t mention it.”

  “Iris said it didn’t work out because he’s still in love with Dakota.” I clapped a hand on my mouth too late. Rachel’s gaze was hot and petulant.

  “That’s news to me,” she bristled.

  “It’s just that it could be motive,” I rushed on, eager to move past my gaffe. “What if Owen is Ginger’s secret lover? We didn’t get a chance to talk about it, but Iris had a knowing look when I mentioned it. Maybe she killed Ginger to pave the way for Ellie to get back with Owen. Or maybe Owen did Ginger in over a lovers’ quarrel.”

  “Owen did not murder Ginger!” Rachel flung her dishtowel in the sink and stomped up the back stairs.

  Awesome. You just alienated your boyfriend and now your sister. Could this day get any better?

  * * *

  I was beginning to feel the claustrophobic effects of staying cooped up in the B and B, like living in o
ne of the antique snow globes we’d used to decorate for the Winter Ball. It was time to get some fresh air.

  I shoveled a path out of the driveway and headed downtown in the Butterscotch Monster. I made my way to the historical society to pay a visit to my good friend Tabitha Battles. The roads were mercifully clear, though some sidewalks still sported a considerable amount of snow.

  “How’s the celebrity wedding going?” She ushered me into her office, where several space heaters gamely chugged along, trying in vain to heat the room in a building constructed in the late 1700s.

  I settled into a chair before her desk and gratefully wrapped my frigid fingers around the mug of tea she offered, my hands trying to absorb warmth from the china.

  “It’s going,” I offered miserably.

  “That well, huh?” Tabitha laughed, her gimlet eyes shining. “If anyone can fix it though, I know you can.”

  I offered my friend a relieved smile. She was dressed for February in a loden green sweater set, electric blue woolen skirt, and high burgundy boots. Her preternaturally red hair was a vivid contrast to the likes of Dakota’s more muted red, and she’d draped a yellow shawl over her shoulders for extra warmth.

  “I wanted to ask you about the tiara that got stolen.”

  “Let’s see.” Tabitha crossed the charming small office and dug through a set of filing cabinets, humming as she went. “Here we are.” She returned to her desk with a thin manila file.

  “The tiara belonged to the daughter of a coal baron. Her name was Violet McGill. She attended Dunlap Academy soon after it was founded. It seems like tiaras were all the rage. It was the end of the Edwardian era. Wealthy American girls longed to emulate their English counterparts and act like duchesses or princesses, hence the tiara.” Tabitha licked her finger and turned another page in the tiara dossier.

  “Here, look.” She showed me some grainy pictures of the snowflake crown.

  “Yup, that’s it. The Winter Ball tiara.”

  “It was rumored to be composed of diamonds.” Tabitha frowned. “But just as many suspected it was cut glass or rhinestones. Violet McGill donated it to the school to be used for each Belle of the Winter Ball after she was crowned the first. The tiara was entombed in the time capsule at Dunlap in 1910.”

  I nodded. This was in line with what Ginger had told us before she’d met her fateful end.

  “Ginger told us,” I gulped, “before she died that it had been appraised at fifty thousand dollars.”

  Tabitha shook her head. “Oh, that may be the starting price, but I’m sure it would fetch way more if it actually reached auction. There would be a lot of wealthy, sentimental Dunlap alumni willing to bid for it.”

  So the tiara could definitely be a motive in Ginger’s death.

  “Oh look! It’s your dearest friend.” Tabitha smirked and dug out some pictures from Dunlap. “These pictures are from Winter Balls of past. Check out 1969.” She swiveled a pile of photographs around to face me.

  There was Helene Pierce, Belle of the Winter Ball. She sported gumball-sized Mamie Eisenhower pearls, just as she did today, and a snowy satin bell skirt embroidered with daisies. Her youth-softened face was quite pretty. But a harsh, imperious gleam resided in her eyes and there was a cunning lilt to her smile. A man stood by her side, one I knew to be Keith’s father, who was long deceased.

  “So Helene wasn’t crowned with the tiara?”

  “No, they would have used a replica, I believe.”

  I laughed. There was no way Helene would have consented to have costume jewelry placed on her head, even at the tender age of eighteen. I pushed the photographs back across the desk, and Tabitha filed them away.

  I gulped. “I came here for another reason, actually.”

  Tabitha cocked her head, her Ariel-the-mermaid hair sliding over her shoulder. “Adrienne Larson?”

  I nodded weakly. “What was the story with her and Garrett?”

  Tabitha sat back in her chair, no doubt thinking back to her days as a student at Quincy College.

  “We were all so excited that Garrett got into Harvard for law school. Everyone but Keith, that is,” she mused. “Adrienne and Garrett broke up that summer he headed off to Cambridge. By then, I bet she was already pregnant, but I don’t think she knew it yet.”

  She took a delicate sip of tea. “Garrett dropped out after his first semester and transferred to Pitt. He commuted and took care of Adrienne, and they tentatively got back together, but we could all tell her heart wasn’t in it.” She paused and looked out the window, then at me. “And his wasn’t either. Summer was born, and Adrienne left. And that’s all there is to it.”

  “But he did ask her to marry him,” I blurted out.

  Tabitha blushed. “He did, out of a misguided sense of duty.” She clasped my hands in hers across the desk. “Mallory, believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I wasn’t so sure I had nothing to worry about.

  I left Tabitha at the historical society and headed home, the Butterscotch Monster gamely chugging along and slipping on the now slushy, yellow brick streets. Rivulets of melting snow had run across the once-clear roads and frozen again in certain patches with the sun newly gone, making the trip home a dicey affair.

  Garrett called, and I answered the phone in a rush. I was hot and bothered to make amends given Iris’s straightforward advice and Tabitha’s reassurances. I wasn’t sure what the future would bring, but I didn’t want to lose him.

  “I’m sorry about the way—”

  “Summer’s missing.”

  “What?” My heart leapt to my throat. “Since when? Where do you think she is?” So many questions raced through my brain.

  “She didn’t come home from school today. She wasn’t on the bus, and she didn’t show up at home. Dad is going to put out a bulletin in half an hour if we don’t find her. My mother is beside herself.” His words sounded strangely hollow, yet tinged with pure primal fear.

  It wasn’t like Summer to wander off without telling anyone.

  Scratch that.

  The first time I’d met her she’d been fetching her kitten, Jeeves, from under my back porch, her dad and grandparents none the wiser. She’d been sneaking over to Thistle Park all last summer to feed Whiskey and Soda and Jeeves. She’d even almost witnessed a murder in the dead of night as she unflaggingly tended to the kitties.

  “I’ll search the grounds.”

  “I’ll join you.” He hung up, his voice clipped and tight.

  I gathered a flashlight and headed out into the dark late afternoon. The sun had crept toward the horizon an hour ago, and a silvery wafer moon hung from the sky, barely illuminating the sugary smooth ground. Shadows from evergreen trees laden with snow cast their long reach across the lawn, their silhouettes reminding me of monsters.

  I crunched through the top layer of ice alongside tracks from deer, raccoon, and rabbits. I called out for Summer until my throat went hoarse. A cursory look through the carriage house proved she wasn’t there, the mural of old-time cars we’d had painted in December standing eerie sentinel in the big space. She wasn’t in the shed either, and I saw no footprints.

  I finally made my way to the greenhouse. A small light glowed within, the tiniest orb bouncing up and down through the rows of plants.

  Footprints.

  The crisp top layer of snow had been marred by boots recently. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the large glass labyrinth and flicked on the light with shaking hands.

  “Summer!”

  She stood with her backpack still on. She was holding her cell phone aloft in front of her as a makeshift flashlight.

  “Mallory.” Her face fell. “You found me.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” I ran down the row. In my haste, I knocked over a planter and spilled a bag of potting soil. “Don’t ever not tell your dad where you’re going again.” I nearly knocked her over from the force of my hug and she hugged me back, fiercely.
>
  “What are you doing here?” I whipped out my phone and texted Garrett as I awaited her explanation.

  “I’m taking pictures.” Twin beads of tears pooled in her wide eyes and spilled over to stain her cheeks. “I’m trying to do it how Grandpa would if he were investigating. I heard him say they’ll be combing the greenhouse tomorrow, and I wanted to get here first.” Her voice got progressively higher and thinner as she explained her presence here. She’d taken off her hat and gloves in the nearly tropical air and appeared to be sweating in her heavy purple coat, whether because of the thermostat, or because she’d gotten caught. “I thought maybe I could find something to prove my mom didn’t hurt Xavier.”

  “Honey, you have to let the police do their job.” I held her at arm’s length and searched her face. “They’ll be fair, I promise.”

  I think they’ll be fair.

  I couldn’t help but recall Truman’s convincing me to do a borderline illegal search but pushed the thought from my mind.

  “Grandpa is trying to frame my mom!” Summer’s voice was full-on shrill this time, and she broke away from my arms and gestured to the bleeding hearts.

  “Oh, Summer. I won’t let him.” Garrett closed the door to the greenhouse behind him and gathered Summer up in a colossal hug.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come home on time, Dad.” Summer pulled back and stared up at her father, her tears flowing freely.

  “I’m just glad you’re all right. But don’t ever do it again.”

  She nodded as he held her close.

  “Everything is ruined.” Summer sniffled and dug a worn tissue from her pocket. She dabbed at her eyes and blew her red nose. “Mom has been promising that we’ll spend more time together for so long, and now it’s not ever going to happen.”

  A strange look stole over Garrett’s face. “What do you mean, Summer?”

  Summer realized she’d spilled some beans and glanced at me. “Mom wants me to come live with her in L.A. for part of the year.”

  “My sweetheart!” Lorraine Davies came running into the greenhouse and swept Summer into an embrace. “Don’t you go scaring your old grandma like this!”

  Summer laughed and held Garrett’s mom close. She let her grandmother fuss over her and gathered her things to go.