by Louise Lynn
To Hazel’s surprise, the only people at Let Them Eat Cake were Esther and Tess.
Hazel blinked. She couldn’t remember ever seeing Tess outside of Esoterica, but that was ridiculous. The woman didn’t sleep there. Or did she?
She could imagine Tess curling up in a nest made of many different quilts, covering her head and going to sleep somewhere in a back storeroom.
But no.
Here she was, in the clean bright space of Let Them Eat Cake, hunched over a muffin with the top decorated in praline.
“I need to talk to you,” Esther said.
Hazel nodded absently.
Tess blinked her great eyes behind her oversized glasses. “You,” she said in a breathy whisper. “The devil and the angel collide in the night. Follow the music to the truth,” she said and looked back at her muffin, which she raised to her mouth with her long talon like fingers and nibbled on the bits of praline.
Hazel blinked again.
Okay. Devil and Angel.
Did that mean Ambrose Angel and Bobby Martin?
She asked Tess directly, but the woman acted like she didn’t hear. She kept her eyes focused on her muffin and said nothing more.
Hazel shrugged and turned back to her sister. “You need to talk to me? I need lunch.”
Esther rolled her eyes and pulled out a piece of the spinach quiche. “What’s going on with the case? Found anything good? Mom said they weren’t looking into her anymore, but the rumors are still swirling. Then the police were at the fishing shop this morning, and Kenneth Greene came in here as pale as a ghost and said he wasn’t allowed to say anything.”
Hazel bit her bottom lip. Right. Sheriff Cross didn’t want the rumors of Joseph Warner’s death to spread.
“Yeah, that’s complicated but, mom didn’t do it, and I’m pretty sure the sheriff isn’t looking at her anymore.”
Esther’s eyes narrowed, and she pushed the quiche across the counter. Beside it, she pushed one of her vanilla bean cupcakes piled with whipped chocolate frosting—one of Hazel’s favorites. “Oh? This wouldn’t have anything to do with mom and Roberta Martin being friends, would it?”
“Who told you?” Hazel snatched at the cupcake, but Esther pulled it away before she could grab it.
“Surprisingly, dad did. I brought Ruth by this morning because he wanted to take her to school, and he showed me the album. When were you going to tell me?”
Hazel shook her head and dug into the quiche, even if she was still standing at the counter. She was hungry, and she needed to get back to the studio to talk to Ambrose. If he ever showed up. “I think you should be more upset with mom for not telling either of us. I found out this morning too, and then Sheriff Cross had a bombshell of new information, and two of our suspects have been cleared so…”
“So what?”
Hazel cast her eyes to Tess, who was watching them and blinking behind her glasses. The muffin was gone, not even a crumb left.
“Only an angel and devil remain, and the battle is tonight. You must save the angel.”
Hazel let out a long breath. “Which is which? And if you know how everything is going to happen, why don’t you come with me to the Sheriff’s office and tell them who the killer is.”
Tess shook her head quickly and bustled out of the shop with her long sloping gait, saying nothing more.
“That didn’t do us any good,” Esther said and slid the cupcake across the counter. “She’s worse than mom and the spirit board, I swear.”
Hazel finished the quiche before she dug into the cupcake. “Well, if she’s going to give warnings, she could at least be a little more specific about them.”
Not that Hazel believed the warnings, but still.
“So, who are the two final suspects?” Esther asked and wiped down the counter though it didn’t have a crumb on it.
“Do you promise not to tell anyone else?”
Esther gave her a level stare. “I’m not a gossip and you know it. Plus, pinky swear,” she said and held out her hand.
They hadn’t done that since they were kids, but Hazel wasn’t about to pass it up. She wrapped her pinky around Esther’s and squeezed. “Ambrose Angel and Bobby Martin.”
Esther raised her brows. “Angel, hmmm? He doesn’t seem like much of an angel to me.”
“What do you mean?” Hazel felt her curiosity getting the better of her. Again. But it was the thing that helped her get information, so she wasn’t going to feel badly about it.
“He had a fight with Joseph Warner right in front of my shop on Wednesday. They were screaming at each other about money or something. Which, I didn’t think made a lot of sense because how do they know each other? And then Mr. Angel came in here and demanded that I provide a cake for his concert.”
Hazel stared. “When were you going to tell me this?”
“How was I supposed to know it was important? I didn’t even know Ambrose and Roberta were connected until you told me about it. And why does him having a fight with Joseph Warner merit gossiping about? Roberta Martin is the one you suspect him of killing, right?”
Hazel nodded slowly and swallowed back the urge to tell Esther the rest of the truth. If Ambrose fought with Joseph Warner about money, that gave Ambrose a motive to kill Joseph as well as Roberta.
Though how did they know each other?
She’d have to find that out too.
“So are you making a cake for the concert?” Hazel asked.
Esther’s expression turned sour, her lips pursed like she bit into a lemon. “Yes, but I charged him twice the price I usually would. I said it was a convenience fee, but it was really because he was horribly rude. But he paid in cash, so at least there’s that.”
Ambrose Angel paid Hazel in cash as well. On the surface, that wasn’t strange, but most people paid with credit cards or debit cards nowadays.
And Tessa said something about following the music to the truth, whatever that meant.
No matter how creepy Bobby Martin made her feel, it seemed more and more likely that Ambrose Angel was their man.
But what was his motive for killing his mentor?
Hazel needed to find out fast.
Chapter 17
“Ambrose Angel called and asked if you could drop the photos by the concert tonight,” Michael said as soon as Hazel got back to the studio that afternoon.
She frowned. “Did he say anything else?” She counted on being able to question him before the concert. Now, that might not be possible.
“Nope. He sounded like he was in a hurry, and there was music in the background. And he kept pausing to yell at people about lights.” Michael shrugged.
Hazel sighed. Of course. He was probably making sure they set up the concert hall the way he wanted. But at least it gave her some time to do a little online snooping.
“Oh, and someone named Ms. Maple called and asked if you would photograph the concert tonight for the Cedar Valley Post.”
Hazel paused in her exit toward her office. “Darla Maple? I haven’t heard from her since I got back,” Hazel said and Anthony Ray jumped down from her desk chair as she stepped in.
Michael followed her. “She sounded a little put out, but if you’re gonna do it you can call her back and let her know.” Michael then handed her a slip of paper with a number on it. “Who is she?”
Right. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Michael hadn’t grown up in Cedar Valley like almost everyone else there. “She ran the high school newspaper when I went to Cedar Valley High, and I guess now she runs the local one.”
Hazel hadn’t been friends with Darla since they never ran in the same circles. And Darla was more of a gossip than Hazel liked. Sure, Hazel herself was nosy, but that was different. She always wanted to find out the truth. Darla didn’t care if something was true or not as long as it was interesting.
“She didn’t say anything about my mom, did she?”
Michael shook his head. “No mention of your mom being a crazed murderer. Uh, I
finished everything for the day, so I was wondering if I could go home early.”
Hazel smiled and gave Michael’s arm a pat. “Sure. You don’t even have to come to the concert tonight if you don’t want to.”
He shrugged. “I might. Mr. Angel gave us free tickets. He dropped them off the other day,” Michael said and pulled them out of a drawer on the desk.
“Well, that was nice of him.” She didn’t add the second part that hung on her tongue. For a murderer.
Too bad she didn’t have the same sort of access as Sheriff Cross. She needed to call him and tell him about the new information she’d found on Ambrose, but first, she wanted something a little more solid.
It didn’t take Hazel long to find it.
A quick search of the New York Philharmonic website brought up all of the positions held by different musicians, and none of them were Ambrose Angel.
She read the list three times to make sure.
Then she checked the list going back years. There, ten years prior, Ambrose had been in the New York Philharmonic for a year, but he was gone by the next.
So, he lied about being part of the current New York Philharmonic, and he had a fight with Joseph Warner about money the morning after Roberta Martin had been murdered.
Was this whole thing about money? It seemed to be. And if Ambrose lied about being part of the New York Philharmonic, maybe he lied about loaning Roberta Martin money too. She was the one who was loaded. Maybe she’d loaned money to him.
Only one way to find out.
For once, Hazel didn’t get a knot of hesitation in her gut when she dialed Sheriff Cross’s phone number.
“Sheriff’s office,” he said when he answered.
Hazel felt herself smiling. “That’s how you answer your cell now?”
“Oh. I didn’t realize it was my cell. Have you got something good, Ms. Hart?” There was a hint of humor in his voice she hadn’t noticed before.
Then she remembered she hadn’t forgiven him yet and got straight to business. “How difficult is it to check someone’s financials when they’re alive?”
Sheriff Cross sighed. “Well, that depends on a lot of things. I’d need a warrant, number one. Whose financials do you want me to check? I’ve already got one request sent to a Judge about Bob Martin.”
“Ambrose Angel. I think… I think he was fighting with Roberta Martin about money.”
Then she told him about the fight with Joseph Warner as well, and Sheriff Cross went silent on the phone, though she heard the tap of computer keys in the background.
“Lying about being in the New York Philharmonic isn’t a crime, but it does suggest he may have lied about other things. And I would need a warrant to check out his financials, but I think we got lucky.”
Hazel ran her fingers through Anthony Ray’s fur. He’d settled onto her lap, again, and purred contentedly. “What do you mean?”
“I already have Roberta Martin’s financials, and she had accounts open in one other name besides her own for a Mr. Andrew Jones. He got regular deposits once a month for the last ten years for the exact amount of money that Roberta Martin was blackmailing from Warner. You want to guess what Andrew Jones’s stage name is?”
Hazel felt her smile widened. “Ambrose Angel?”
“Bingo. And it looks like he made a pretty sizable withdrawal. He took out all the money in the account.”
Hazel felt her eyebrows rise. “How sizable and when?”
“Ten thousand dollars on Monday.”
And Roberta Martin had been killed Tuesday morning.
“Is that enough to arrest him?”
Sheriff Cross let out a breath. “It’s enough to bring him in for questioning, but if he doesn’t confess, I need more evidence. And I am waiting on a few warrants so …”
Hazel glanced at the clock and frowned. The concert was in less than two hours, and she wasn’t sure if she’d get any new information before then. Especially not when she was supposed to photograph it now.
“I guess I’ll see you at the concert then,” she said.
“I’ll see you there, Hazel.” And Sheriff Cross hung up before she could say anything more. That stupid butterfly took flight again.
At least now she knew why Ambrose Angel, or should she call him Andrew Jones, was paying for everything in cash. It might have been all he had left. He’d been living on Roberta Martin’s charity, and she cut him off.
What better reason for murder than that?
After Hazel finished up at the studio and called Darla Maple to tell her she would be happy to photograph the concert for her usual fee—which Darla agreed to with a touch of hesitation—Hazel locked up and trotted over to Celia’s cabin behind CATfeinated. Anthony Ray stood next to her in the snow.
Celia opened the door with a smile. She was half ready, which meant she still wore a bathrobe.
Hazel grinned. “We had so much fun at the Lodge party, I thought you could make me snazzy for the concert, please?”
Celia rolled her eyes and tugged Hazel inside. Anthony Ray immediately found Ophelia and licked her face.
“Admit it. You want to be snazzy for Sheriff Cross.”
Hazel’s cheeks flushed. “Actually, I didn’t tell him we were going together. And Darla Maple called and asked me to photograph the concert, so that’s what I’m doing now.”
“Okay,” Celia said and gave her a level look before shaking her head. “You want to drag this out as long as you possibly can. Not that I blame you. You want to make sure he’s really interested.”
Hazel frowned as Celia bustled her through the Art Deco living room and up the stairs to her bedroom. “If he’s not going to stay interested for the long haul, I’m not interested in him.”
“I agree. But sometimes you have to take a chance,” Celia said and picked through one of the two oversized closets. One was for everyday clothes, and the other was for fancy clothes. They were all specially made for Celia by her dressmaker mother, and gorgeously designed.
“Everyone at the concert will be going in black, because that’s so typical. But tonight, I think you should go red,” Celia said and pulled out a surprisingly demure red dress.
“I am not Esther,” Hazel said and eyed it as if it were an animal pelt that Celia had suggested and not a beautiful gown.
Celia laughed. “Esther looks best in blue-based reds. This is an orange-based red and would look gorgeous on you. Trust me. Or you can get ready on your own.”
“Blackmailer,” Hazel said and snatched the dress out of Celia’s elegant hands. Which, in turn, reminded her of Roberta Martin’s blackmailing ways.
And Joseph Warner’s death.
Who else was on Ambrose’s hit list?
Bobby Martin?
He seemed to be upset about the will reading, and a sudden urgency filled Hazel’s veins. She hurriedly got dressed, and to no one’s surprise, Celia was right about the gown. It didn’t bring out the pink in Hazel’s skin the way she thought it would. The dress hung past her knees, came in at the waist, and was easy enough to move in, which meant it wouldn’t hinder her photographing the concert in the least.
Then Celia went about putting Hazel’s bobbed hair in a complicated up-do that involved twists and ringlets and far too many pins for Hazel to keep count of. When she was done, she still looked like herself, but the best possible version of it.
Too bad she couldn’t roll out of bed looking like that.
To her surprise, Celia wore a tuxedo style suit with wide pant legs and a vest that hugged her small waist. The blouse beneath it was billowy and white, and complemented her smooth dark skin beautifully.
“And you look a hundred times better than I do. In a suit,” Hazel said with a grin.
Celia rolled her eyes. “Shut up. We need to go, or we’ll be late,” she said and threw her arms over Hazel’s shoulder. “You have a killer to catch.”
Chapter 18
The parking lot to the Cedar Valley theater was nearly full by the time they a
rrived, and Hazel frowned at herself as she yanked her photo equipment to the doors. The concert didn’t start properly until seven, but she needed at least fifteen minutes to set up. And she was cutting it more than close.
Most of the attendees had gathered in the lobby for refreshments, Esther’s cake included, and whispered amongst themselves in hushed voices about the recent murder.
Hazel swore she heard her mother’s name a few times and frowned. No one in town knew of the other suspects yet, so it was obvious why they mentioned Maureen Hart. But it didn’t make her feel any better.
At least Celia helped her with the tripod and equipment bag. Otherwise, she would’ve had to have taken two trips. Then Celia spotted Esther, and Hazel waved her away. “Go on. You get the night off.”
Celia smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Good luck.”
To Hazel’s surprise, even Ruth was present, and both of her parents, though only a few people were going up to have a word with them.
She frowned and went to set up the tripod in the auditorium. The chairs were empty, covered in deep red velvet, and the dim lighting made it difficult not to trip on uneven places in the carpet.
As she was finalizing the focus on her Nikon, she heard Ambrose Angel’s haughty voice from the side of the stage. “You’d better not mess up the lights. This is my gift to the town and I want it to go well. I’m trying to bring culture to these people,” he said and let out an exasperated sigh.
Bringing culture to the yokels. How kind of him, Hazel thought, but bit her lip to keep from saying it out loud. Especially since this culture also involved a killer.
Then Ambrose peeked out at her and a smile slid over his mouth. “Ms. Hart. Did you bring the photos? I asked your assistant to deliver them as I was far too busy to drop by and pick them up.”
Hazel snatched the oversized manila envelope from her bag and handed them over. “I printed all the ones you chose, and there is a CD with the others. I hope you find them satisfactory.”
As he flipped through them, his smile grew. Self-indulgent, to say the least.
“Yes. These will do nicely. I’m planning a US tour after this. I really wish Roberta could’ve seen me play tonight. But I’ve dedicated it to her. I don’t know if you noticed but it was on the marquee out front.”