by Louise Lynn
This boardwalk didn’t extend over the ocean like the pier in Santa Monica. The sea here was too unpredictable for that. Instead, it ran alongside, the wooden planks raised above the sand, and filled with overpriced carnival games and all sorts of rides, both old and new.
We passed the Tilt-a-Whirl, the blue and red cars spinning wildly. The old wooden rollercoaster rattled to the left, painted bright white with red lining and dressed in its festive attire, boughs of fir and holly, for the holidays. Ivy frowned at it as we walked by. She still hadn’t forgiven our mom for the time she tricked Ivy onto the coaster as a kid.
I surveyed the people nearest to me, looking for Malachi’s red sweater, but I couldn’t see him.
A deep voice laughed to my right, and I nearly jumped.
Ivy snickered. “It’s the wolf man.”
I turned to see the jerky movements and furry face of the animatronic wolf man that welcomed guests into the haunted cave ride.
“Shut up. It startled me. How about we go for a ride on the rollercoaster?”
Ivy glared daggers, but her expression cleared when she noticed a vendor selling cotton candy. “No, but I’m treating myself for finishing another semester.”
I shook my head and scanned the crowd. Did Mal go into one of the rides? Or maybe he slipped into the line of shops on the other end of the boardwalk. Or —
Ivy shoved a mound of pink fluff under my nose. “Have some and don’t say a thing about my teeth rotting out of my head.”
I grinned at her and took a small piece, which instantly dissolved on my tongue. A touch too sweet, but it tasted like childhood all the same.
Suddenly, Ivy grabbed onto my shoulder. “Look! He’s over there, in front of the carousel!”
I followed her finger to the iron railing that surrounded the brightly lit carousel. Malachi was pressed against the surrounding railing, his arms tucked beneath his chin as he watched the ocean, with a sea of people squawking around him. Children cheered as the carousel rotated in circles and multi-colored horses raced one another. Their riders reached for the tiny metal rings that they could grab at each turn.
Malachi appeared lost somehow, and I wondered what had upset him so much to bring him here. I hadn’t meant to offend him, but I hadn’t asked any questions that should have sent him to sulk.
The memory of him shoving something into his pocket pricked at my mind, and I squeezed Ivy’s arm and started toward him.
We had to find out the truth.
“Wait!” Ivy pulled me back. “Someone… someone’s walking up to him. It’s the guy from the Ferris wheel!”
The two of us ducked behind a palm tree wound with multi-colored lights, and tried to conceal ourselves as much as possible. Then I saw a tall, excessively muscled man place his hands around Malachi’s eyes from behind. His arms soon followed, wrapping around Malachi’s lean waist. Mal turned and pressed his lips against the stranger’s mouth.
Ivy squeaked, and I felt a smile tug at my lips. “Sorry, Ivy… But it looks like Mal didn’t want us to know he had a boyfriend. That’s why he was acting weird with us.”
“But… but I thought we’d one day get married,” Ivy sniffled. “I even planned our wedding out on Pinterest.”
I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her. “There, there, little one. At least they look cute together.”
“Yeah. They do, don’t they?”
“Still, we need to know what he shoved into his pocket that day,” I said.
Ivy sighed. “So, we have to disturb them? You do it. I want to eat my cotton candy in peace and sulk.”
I gave her mussed head a kiss and slunk out from behind our hiding place. Mal and his boyfriend didn’t notice me until I was nearly upon them.
“Hey, Mal.”
Malachi stiffened, but didn’t shrug out of the other man’s arms, though his eyes hardened all the same. “Olivia. What are you doing here? Can’t I take my lunch break without being harassed?”
I took a step back and shoved my hands into my coat’s pockets. The wind whipped my hair into my face, and I licked my lips. Before I could speak, the other man nodded to me.
“Hey, she runs that tea shop, doesn’t she? Is she the one who always flirts with you?” his boyfriend asked, eyeing Mal with a mirthful grin.
“That would be my sister, Ivy. I didn’t want to bother you, but I do need to know what you put in your pocket that day you found Jenny. If it has anything to do with the case and what killed her—”
Malachi rolled his eyes and yanked a piece of paper out of his jeans. “This? I was reading it when I almost tripped over her. I was on my way here, to meet Kyle and then Jenny collapsed.”
I glanced at the paper pinched between his fingers. It said: Carousel at ten.
Which made all kinds of sense. It had been nearly ten when Jenny died.
“Okay. I believe you,” I said and turned to go.
Malachi was right. I’d harassed him enough.
“Wait! Olivia. Please, don’t tell Pops about this,” Malachi said, and his eyes begged with mine. “About me and Kyle.”
I let out a breath. “I won’t, but I don’t think he’d care. He does floral arrangements for same-sex weddings all the time, doesn’t he?”
Malachi nodded slowly. “This feels different.”
I didn’t know what else to say, so I gave him a nod and walked back to Ivy. She’d managed to devour the cotton candy, and she hopped from booted foot to booted foot.
“Well?”
“It was a note to meet his boyfriend. Not guilty, as far as I can tell.”
“Well… I guess that’s that.” Ivy rubbed her arms up and down. “Who’s next on the list?”
My gloves flattened out our list. “Maggie White,” I said.
Chapter Ten
“Maybe he’s bisexual and not, you know, fully gay,” Ivy said as we stepped into the foyer of our house.
The sudden shift from the cold salty breeze to the spicy fragranced warmth caused my nose to run, and I dabbed it with a tissue. Ivy’s cheeks were pink, and I was sure mine looked the same.
“The way he was kissing that guy, I don’t think it matters one way or the other,” I said and grinned at her.
Ivy pouted, but I knew she’d get over it soon enough. Malachi was a cute distraction. Fun to watch and gush over, but she wasn’t really in love with him. And, regardless of my ironlike hold on my own heart, I couldn’t help but feel a blush of joy for the young florist. If the sexy surfer guy who ran the Ferris wheel made him happy, I was happy for him. And Ivy was too. I could tell. Even if she presently complained about it.
“Do you think they’re going to get married? And adopt little surfer babies?” Ivy said in a hushed voice.
“Where would they get surfer babies?”
Ivy shrugged. “I don’t know. I did wonder about him when he started hanging out at the beach all summer. Every day off, he was at the beach. He never said anything about waves before, so I thought it was just a phase and not, you know, another boy.”
I snorted. “I don’t think either are a phase, surfing, or the boy.”
Ivy sighed and nodded, unwinding the scarf from her neck. I did the same, and pinched my mouth shut when I heard our mom’s jingling.
“Good! You’re early. We have a lot to do after we eat. Hurry in, girls. Is it cold out? I started a fire, but I can throw another log on. The sea air this time of year gets into every crack and crevice in the house.”
She was right about that. When a fog settled over the bay, it brought with it a deathlike chill that crept under covers and through the window panes, and it only got worse once winter truly settled. We both had radiators upstairs, and we couldn’t turn them off unless we wanted to shiver for hours after we got in. The main lounge was heated with a huge fireplace, though, and it was the best living room in the entire house.
Or, that’s what our mom said. I found no problem sitting in my own living room in my upstairs apartment. Ivy, on the other hand,
was hardly ever in hers. She spent most of her downtime with friends, or roaming through mine and mom’s homes.
“Did you make curry?” Ivy asked, sniffing the air
“Of course. What better way to warm us up? It’s done simmering. Come on. We’ve got things to do that won’t get done on their own.”
I took a deep breath of the aromatic scent of chicken and spices, and tried to tamp down the fear that churned in my gut the last few days. We weren’t any close to finding Jenny Walker’s killer, but like Dean said, I wasn’t in cuffs just yet.
I still had time to expose the real killer.
And I always had my mom’s curry to comfort me.
Dinner with our mom had always been a casual affair. Unless she had guests, in which case, we never knew what we were getting or what she’d rope us into.
Ivy made it into the kitchen first, and had already dished up before I even arrived. I spooned up two generous scoops of rice and curry, my stomach rumbling as I watched the sauce drip across the plate, and I took a seat across from Ivy. She already had curry on her chin, and I smiled at her. When we were kids, the ongoing joke was she got more food on the ground than on her face. It wasn’t true anymore, but she still resembled it if only just.
“What have my girls been up to today?” Mom asked, flicking her raven hair over her shoulders. “I went by the shop and it was closed. I thought for sure the police had arrested you, but Karen—you know that old snoop who runs the Christmas shop—well, she said you two took off in a hurry to the florist and never came back. Did something happen to that nice young man or his grandfather?”
I couldn’t help but smile, and Ivy stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork.
She didn’t seem predisposed to talk, so I did.
“We thought he may have had something to do with Jenny Walker’s death,” I said and ate a mouthful of chicken, onion, and rice.
“He found her, didn’t he? But why would Malachi kill that old bat?” Mom asked.
Ivy wiped her chin with a napkin. “We had compelling evidence that pointed in his direction.”
“The poison could have come from his shop… or so we thought,” I said and grinned again.
“Did it?” Mom asked, her light blue eyes wide. “I wouldn’t trust them for herbs, but I certainly wouldn’t take them for killers.”
“We don’t think so, but the point is, we thought it might,” Ivy grumbled, shoveling more food onto her spoon. “And when we asked, he was very evasive and suspicious and—well, we now know he didn’t do it. That’s that.”
I nudged her under the table with my foot, and she threw me a glare. “Do you want to tell her the rest, or shall I?”
“No playing footsie at the table. I don’t have many rules, but that’s one of them,” Mom said around a bite of food.
“It’s not footsie when we’re related,” Ivy said and wrinkled her nose. “And fine. I’ll tell it. We followed him to the boardwalk, and he wasn’t doing anything suspicious. He met someone there. A lover.”
Our mom looked back and forth between us, jangling with each turn of her head. She had silver chains with bells weaved into her long hair, the color so much like Ivy’s. My own hair—and our eye color—came from our father.
“And? That’s it?” Mom probed.
“His lover was the guy who runs the Ferris wheel,” I added, with an emphasis on ‘guy.’
Our mom blinked and took another bite. “Yes. I know him. His name’s Kyle and he comes to yoga from time to time. He has abs like a washboard. Hard as a rock. I know. He let me touch them. He did say something about his cute boyfriend, Mal. Did you girls not know?”
Ivy pushed her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ears before she took three quick bites. “Of course not. I thought he was single,” she said, though it came out mumbled.
“She had a crush on him,” I explained, and a little pang of guilt bloomed in my chest.
Ivy would get over it, but still, I knew it stung in the moment. And I knew better than anyone how that felt.
“Oh, Ivy dear. They’re both gay. They only like other men, but I’m sure he’d be flattered by your interest,” she said and patted Ivy on the arm.
For a moment, I wasn’t sure if Ivy was going to laugh or cry. Her bottom lip trembled, and her forehead furrowed. I paused with a bite halfway to my open mouth and waited.
Then, she let out a great burst of laugher. “Okay, I’m officially over it. They’re too cute together anyways. And I can’t blame him for being gay.”
I sighed and chewed. It was better than her first boyfriend. After they broke up, Ivy had locked herself in her room for a week, wore nothing but black, and wrote some poetry that would make Lord Byron wince. Then again, Ivy had grown up a lot since then. It was hard to see sometimes, being the older sister and all. I still saw her as the baby pretending she had rabbit feet.
“See? I knew I raised you right.” Mom gave Ivy’s arm a squeeze. “Now, speaking of cute men wandering around town, what about Dean Harper? You said he was back, but you didn’t mention how much he grew up. Remember his baby face when you two were dating? Oh, hold on! I still have pictures of that.”
My whole world faded to black as I watched Mom jump up from the table. I prayed she wasn’t going for the photo albums. That was the last thing I wanted to see. I clamped my mouth shut and tried to ignore the churning in my gut. At least I’d almost finished my food already. If she had mentioned Dean before I had a chance to eat, I might have lost my appetite.
Not because of Dean himself, more that little band of gold on his finger and what it symbolized.
“Here we go,” she said and jingled into her seat, as quietly as a wind chime in a hurricane. She shoved the little photo album across the table, and my heart sank. “Still as good as new. I keep it in the kitchen with my recipe books. Isn’t it just darling? Came from your great-grandpa Willow, you know, from my side of the family.”
A smug smile lit up my mom’s face as I reached for the album. The gold exterior had a rose on it, and I bit the inside of my cheek as I flipped the pages open. “Oh, Mom. Why show me these now? Look at my hair.” I wrinkled my nose and scanned over the pictures.
My hair was precisely why I hadn’t wanted to see them.
“You insisted on that cut,” Mom argued. “You brought magazine photos and everything. And I always believed in letting you girls make your own decisions, within reason, of course.”
Ivy leaned over the table to look. “It can’t be as bad as the time she let me go to school dressed like Cinderella for a week.” She looked over the photos and broke out into giggles. “Oh, maybe it is as bad. Why did you cut it like that? You look like a mop.”
My cheeks flared at her comment. “It was the style. Sort of. Meg Ryan looked good with it.”
I frowned at my frizzy hair in the photo. The expression deepened when I looked at the boy smiling next to me, his arm slung confidently around my shoulders.
Ivy snorted. “His nose! And those cheeks. It’s baby Dean and baby Olive. Sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”
I glowered at her, and my heart skipped a beat. Dean wasn’t that fresh-faced seventeen-year-old anymore, and I wasn’t that girl with an unfortunate haircut. And yet now, we were farther apart than ever. At least in this photo he’d been something special to me. Now he was the detective investigating a murder.
“After this whole murder thing blows over, you should ask him out,” Mom said, innocently taking another bite of her food.
“If I don’t get tossed in jail,” I replied, and she waved her hand in the air.
“Nonsense! If you didn’t do it, they can’t throw you in jail. I’m sure they’ll find the real killer,” she said, as if her own daughters weren’t prime suspects in the investigation.
“You’re pretty blasé about this, all things considered,” I said and snapped the album shut.
She waved her hand again. “Not blasé. Just confident you’re both innocent.”
I
vy turned to her, eyes wide. “Mom? Did you kill Jenny Walker?”
Her hands fell into her lap, and she looked back and forth between us. The expression on her face was the same she wore when we were younger and had pushed her to the edge of exasperation.
“Ivy. Olive. How did you find out? Of course I murdered Jenny Walker. The old hag deserved worse than she got, as far as I’m concerned.”
We both stared at her for a long, terrifying moment, then I shook my head. “Nope. She didn’t do it.”
Ivy narrowed her eyes. “You’re right. She wouldn’t admit to it so easily if she did.”
Our mom rose from the table and grabbed our empty plates. “Of course I didn’t kill her. Did you two really think I would do that? If I was going to kill Jenny Walker, I’d have done it years ago, and I wouldn’t have gotten caught. But I’m not that mean-spirited. And don’t think I didn’t notice the abrupt change in subject. We were talking about the young and handsome Dean Harper. Why don’t you ask him out? Reconnect after all these years?” she said and began to clear away our plates.
I took a sip of water and licked my lips. “For one, I think his wife might mind,” I said under my breath.
Chapter Eleven
Once we had put away the dishes, Mom turned to us and grinned.
“Now for the fun part! I know you’ll probably have tons of stuff to be getting on with— you, Olive, convincing the police you’re not a murderer—but I have things for you to do.”
I groaned at her. Mom was clearly where Ivy and I had gotten our sarcasm from. In comparison, our dad had always been a more serious person. Quirky, with an extravagant taste in bowties, but serious.
My heart clenched at the thought of him and I glanced toward the ceiling. Oh, dad… I miss you so much.
“And by help, do you mean you have a to-do-list a mile long?” Ivy grumbled, peeking over my shoulder. “I know I’ve just finished up for Christmas break, Mom, but… please, don’t make me.”