by Amity Allen
“Uh, yeah. He might have my phone.”
“That little stinker. He’s already had his screen time today. He knows he’s not to be playing that.”
I raised my hand to my mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
She patted my shoulder as we walked into the living room together. “You had no way to know.”
Whew! She’d forgotten all about the fact that I’d been in her bedroom.
“Hi, Poppy!” Dimples was standing in the living room going through a backpack.
“Hi, Dimples.”
“Can I get your autograph?” Dimples asked, handing me a piece of notebook paper and a pen.
“Sure.” I signed it and gave her a hug.
“Mom, do you think Poppy could come back sometime and babysit when I’m here?”
Tippy shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Now Peter, give Poppy back her phone.”
“Do I have to?” he whined.
“Yes, you do. Now Poppy, let me pay you.” Tippy picked up her purse.
“No, there’s no need. You were only gone a minute.” I was itching to get out of there, so I waved at them all and beat a hasty retreat.
“If you say so,” I heard Tippy say.
“Bye!” I called over my shoulder then closed the front door behind me.
Whew, that was a close one. I sprinted to the van and my heartbeat didn’t return to normal for several minutes, but I finally calmed down.
I’d experienced both good and bad aspects in my investigation from the procedural side, but I had obtained more information I hoped would prove to be helpful in finding Heather’s killer.
Could Denise Tellerman be angry enough with her sister Heather for “stealing” Dimples, her cash cow, away from the ranch to the pageant circuit to kill her?
It was possible, except for the fact that Denise wasn’t at the convention center when Heather was killed. She’d been picking up Heather’s husband from the airport, arriving on the scene after Heather collapsed. I saw her with my own eyes and so did several other people.
There was one more thing I needed to know.
I placed a call.
“Officer Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, you said the email address belonged to Tippy, right? Did that make her a suspect?”
“Initially.”
“And now?”
“No. We don’t think it was her.”
“Let me guess. Because the IP address the email came from didn’t belong to her, did it?”
“No, actually it didn’t.”
“Who did it belong to?”
“It was traced to a public Wi-Fi account. Listen, Poppy, you really need to stay out of the investigation.”
Just what I thought. Someone hacked into Tippy’s email account and sent that email to Heather “anonymously,” but knowing it would be traced eventually to an email account that belonged to Tippy.
“I appreciate your concern.”
“It’s not concern. Well, I guess it is. There’s a killer out there, and I don’t need you putting yourself in danger. Or flubbing up our investigation.”
“So noted.”
“You’re not going to drop it, are you?”
“I think I’ll have to plead the fifth.” I could hear him working up a grumble, but I hung up before he could deliver it.
“Au revoir,” I said, and disconnected the call.
“Oh, Poppy, I’m so glad you were able to save him,” Mads said. She and her sister had come over to meet the newest member of the Parker family.
“Me too,” Skylar said.
We all sat on my bed, Heather’s former cat in the middle enjoying the twins’ attention.
“But how were you able to do it? I thought you said you couldn’t have a cat in a B&B.” Mads stroked the top of his head, which elicited a rich purring sound from my feline friend.
“Well, Aunt Cricket decided that it would be okay. She’s going to get some of those new air filters that you plug in. Apparently they take care of all sorts of indoor pollutants, including pet dander. Plus, I’ll keep him in my room most of the time.” I wasn’t about to tell them that I suspected my magic spell had worked and he was now hypoallergenic.
“That’s such great news.” Skylar scratched behind his ears. “What will you name him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t he already have a name?” Mads asked. “I mean, when he belonged to Heather?”
“I think she called him Pepper but he doesn’t seem to respond to it, so I’m open for suggestions.”
“Louis,” Skylar offered.
Mads grimaced. “How about Martavious?”
I made a face. “We’ll see. I feel like it will come to me.”
I wish I could tell them about the spell. I hated to lie to my friends, but at the moment things seemed way too complicated to just come out and tell them. I also had no idea what the consequences would be of talking about my powers. It seemed to be important in the witch community that you keep your magical abilities on the down low, but I didn’t know how to handle it. What I wouldn’t give to have someone give me some guidance in that area.
“I’m having lunch with Tippy Bradshaw today,” Skylar announced.
“You are?” I couldn’t believe my luck.
“Yeah, why are you so excited?”
“Because I need you to do some spying for me.”
“Spying? What sort of spying?”
I wasn’t about to tell her that I’d already snooped around the Bradshaws’ home, but I could tell her a little bit. “I need to know if she’s had a laptop stolen or gone missing over the past few months.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Tell her you lost yours. Or that it was stolen. You’re not sure. Tell her you set it down at the library and someone must have made off with it. If she’s had that happen, she’ll probably mention it.”
“I don’t know, Poppy. This feels kinda weird.”
“Please, Skylar!” I gave her a pleading look inspired by my recent trip to the animal shelter, hoping it would tug at her heartstrings the way a certain feline had tugged at mine.
“Fine,” she growled. “But you’re too curious for your own good. Always have been. And I’m only saying yes because I know you. You’re not going to let this go until you get what you want. Are you?”
I hugged her. “Nope. Thanks Skylar. You’re a good friend.”
She gave me an unenthusiastic pat on the back before extricating herself from my grasp. “All right. That’s enough of that. Anything else?”
“Yes. I want to know if Mr. Morgan was having an affair. See if you can fish around for information about him.”
“Okay.”
“Where are you going? Maybe I can go too and eavesdrop on your conversation.”
“You’re weird, you know that?”
I nodded. “Most definitely. I still want to listen in, especially about Mr. Morgan. I’ll text you if I think of something else.”
Skylar looked at me dubiously. “I don’t know, Poppy. What if she gets suspicious? I work for her sometimes.”
“I won’t mess things up for you, I promise.” I gave her my best puppy dog eyes. “Please.”
“Okay, fine. But if I text you that you’re being too obvious, you have to skedaddle.”
I held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“I think that’s ‘Hook ’em Horns’.” She pointed at my hand.
“Whatever.”
That afternoon, I wore a ball cap and sunglasses as I hovered around the Windmill Market, where Skylar was supposed to meet Tippy for lunch. I loitered and tried to look interested in watering cans, wind chimes, and racks of postcards for twenty minutes until they finally showed up. After they ordered their food and sat down, I got myself a glass of sweet tea and a sandwich and parked myself at the table next to them, sitting directly behind Tippy.
I pretended to scroll through my phone, but I was really straining to hear their conversa
tion. I wished they’d chosen a place that was quieter. The acoustics in the market were abysmal, at least for eavesdropping purposes.
At first they talked about the pageant.
“I knew she was going to win, you know,” Tippy bragged about Dimples.
“Of course she was. She had the best team,” Skylar added.
I rolled my eyes.
“She did. I’ve lined up a professional trick roper from Texas to come over and teach her some new skills before the next one. We’ve got a darling routine planned for the outfit of choice portion of that Houston pageant.”
“Where’s her next one going to be?” Skylar asked.
Apparently Dimples would be competing in West Virginia in three weeks. They talked about that for a while. Skylar sounded hesitant to sign on for the hair and makeup job, but Tippy attempted to woo her by extolling the wonders of the resort and spa where the pageant was to take place.
I yawned.
“You know, Skylar, I just don’t know what they’ll do about Bloomin’ Belles.”
My ears perked up.
Tippy continued. “I mean, without Heather, who could possibly run it?”
I didn’t hear Skylar’s answer.
“It’s not something you would consider doing, would you?”
This time I heard Skylar’s laughter. Everyone in the whole market could hear it, she was so loud. “Heavens no, Tippy. What would ever give you the idea that I’d do that?”
Her response seemed to have offended Tippy, because the older woman huffed, “It was just a simple question, Skylar.”
“Oh no, I’ll probably be gone to Hollywood by this time next year.”
Hollywood? I didn’t know Skylar planned to go to Hollywood. I knew she wanted to be a stylist, do makeup, but I didn’t know she had an actual plan to go . . .
“I hate to even think of Bloomin’ Belles without Heather,” Tippy said.
“Yeah, it’s a tragedy all right. Hey, what about Mr. Morgan?” Skylar asked.
Gosh, she wasn’t all that good with subtle.
“What about him? He’s never been involved in the pageant. I can’t see him taking it on.”
“No, I mean do you think he could have killed Heather? Was there another woman or anything?”
I cringed at the awkward way she lacked a transition there, but I’d asked her to do it.
I added to my list of notes to myself:
Conduct your own interviews.
This line of questioning stumped Tippy. “I don’t think so,” she stammered.
“I was just wondering. You know, if he had any women in his life.”
“Not that I know of . . .”
Silence.
“But now that you mention it, I did see him with Denise Tellerman the other day.”
“Heather’s sister?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, but she’s his sister-in-law. That’s not unusual, is it?”
“No.”
They got quiet again, and I assumed they were chewing their lunches.
“But you know, Heather did meet Tony when Denise brought him home from college to meet her family.”
“Mr. Morgan? You mean he was dating Denise before he dated Heather?”
“Yes. Denise always plays it off like it was no big deal. I think they broke up, and then Tony started dating Heather later, but that’s how they met.”
“Oh, that sounds awful. I’d kill my sister if she started dating the man I was seeing.”
Tippy laughed nervously. “Well, I’m sure that’s not what happened.”
Skylar laughed too. “No, I’m not suggesting . . .”
“Oh, I know you’re not. How’s the chicken salad?”
“Divine. How’s your Caesar?”
“Wonderful.”
They talked about how stifling the weather had been lately, the upcoming art festival, and some other topics I found rather boring. I started scrolling through my phone for real and got lost in an article on the hot new fall TV shows when I heard Skylar ask, “Have you ever had your laptop stolen?”
“No, but I’ve lost a tablet. I think somebody took it. Why?”
“Because I’ve lost mine. I set it down at the library, went to get a book, and when I came back it was gone.”
“Did you report it? They have a very good lost and found there.”
“I did, but I’m not holding my breath. Those things are so expensive to replace!”
“Tell me about it. I had mine sitting at a table at that popular chicken place up Highway 98, one of the kids with Peter got his leg stuck in the net next to the ball pit in their play area so I had to go in after him. By the time I got the child untangled and he stopped crying, I came back to the table to find my tablet was gone.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And it was so strange because whoever took it left my purse there. If you were going to steal something, wouldn’t you steal my purse too or at least my wallet?”
I didn’t wait to finish my sandwich. Instead, I got up and went back to the shop.
Once there, I texted Skylar, “Excellent work. Thanks.” She’d really redeemed herself getting that last bit of information out of Tippy about the laptop.
Everyone thought Tippy was the one who emailed Heather about Allessandra’s falsified birth certificate, making her look like someone who would go to great lengths to ensure a victory for her daughter. Maybe even kill someone she believed was standing in her way.
Slurping down the last of my tea, I thought I knew who the murderer was. I just had a few more questions that only Heather’s sister would be able to answer.
It was a glorious day, one of the first with a pleasant breeze that hinted of fall. That morning, Aunt Cricket had tasked me with taking pans of lasagna to Denise Tellerman and Tony Morgan. It was a long-held Southern tradition that when somebody died, you brought over a casserole. Aunt Cricket kept the freezer stocked with food just for occasions such as these, and most people’s favorite was her lasagna.
When I phoned, Mr. Morgan said he’d be at work all day so I’d have to bring his by later when he returned in the evening. But since I had the day off and it was so nice out, I decided to drive to the Tellerman ranch in the hope that Denise would be home. If not, I’d get to enjoy a pleasant drive and see her horses. Plus, if she was there I had some questions for her about her sister’s murder.
I turned in at the sign that said Tellerman Ranch and followed the dusty road for about a quarter of a mile before I came upon a big field on my right where several horses grazed contentedly. On the left was another green pasture. In this one, a brown horse munched happily on the grass, while a black one looked up, flicked an ear before going back to eating.
They must be so used to visitors that my presence was nothing to them.
Being there was like a blast from the past. Memories of riding camp flooded my mind and I remembered my favorite horse to ride had been called General. My friend Felicity and I both liked riding him best and argued all the time over who got to ride him each day.
I drove up and parked near the house on the left. Even if Denise was at the barn, like I thought she would be, it would be considered bad manners to just drive back without stopping at the house first to see if she was there. Plus, she’d probably want to put the lasagna in her fridge at the house.
When I got out and walked up the drive, I noticed the bushes around her house needed tending. A lot of them were dead, and a stand of ivy appeared determined to overgrow the rest of her plants, the way it trailed onto her porch. It must be a big job, taking care of the ranch all by herself, and I wondered if Denise had any help. As I climbed up the front steps, I placed a hand on the railing and it wobbled under my fingers. I knocked on the front door and waited.
After a few minutes, I knocked again.
Still no answer.
Denise must either be at the barn or not home. If she was like a lot of ranch people I knew, the only time she came to the house was to eat and sleep. For
a lot of ranchers, the barn was the hub of all the activity. With that in mind, I strolled up the dirt road to find out if the same was true for the Tellerman ranch.
I found Denise behind the barn unloading bales of hay from a flatbed trailer onto the back of a sport utility vehicle. The sweet smell of the hay wafted through the air, and I congratulated myself for having the great idea to come out to the ranch today.
“Hi Denise.” I waved.
“Well if it isn’t Poppy Parker. Girl, what are you doing all the way out here?”
“I came to bring you a lasagna from my aunt Cricket and myself. And to see you and your ranch, maybe talk about that video idea I mentioned to you. Sorry I didn’t call first. I should have. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Oh, that’s fine. You can just come on out. We usually have lessons going most of the day but my morning one got canceled.”
“Okay. I stopped up by the house but no one was there, I hope you don’t mind that I came on back.”
“No. Not at all. I’m just filling up these hay bales to take out to the different feeders out in the fields.”
She drew the back of a glove across her brow, wiping sweat away in the process.
“If I remember right, running this place takes a lot of work.” That was something I learned about at riding camp—taking care of a bunch of horses was a lot of work. And back then I was just thinking of the horses. Looking around now, I thought about all the grounds and fences to oversee. “Do you have anyone to help you out here?”
“No. I used to. Things have been a little tight lately and I had to let my farm manager go.”
This was news. I gathered she’d been having trouble thanks to the decrease in income when Dimples had gone to the pageant world, but this sounded more serious than I expected.
“That’s too bad, but you look like you’re managing pretty well.” That wasn’t exactly true, but it was better to reassure her than to vocalize my concerns.
“Would you like to have a tour of the place while you’re here?”
I did want a tour, but I didn’t want to come across as too eager. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Oh, it’s no bother at all. Just let me get the golf cart and set down these gloves.”