Murder for Two

by Louise Lynn

  “Isn’t it?” Ivy snarled, folding over her arms. “I am so upset, Olivia.”

  “I know, Ivy. Here, have some cake. You’ll feel better afterward.”

  I passed her over a slice of coffee cake from the counter, and she immediately accepted and sank her teeth into the fattest part. I watched her devour the cake in silence, and then I realized Wyatt still stood beside us. I had forgotten to finish his order.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! That’s four dollars please.”

  “Thank you. And please, keep the change. I do hope you find the culprit soon.”

  “Me too.” I placed his change into the tip jar and offered him a smile. Once he had claimed one of the tables by the window, I turned to my sister. “Ivy, can you mind the register for a moment? I want to check the security footage.”

  “I want to see it, too, you know.”

  “You will. Just… give me five?”

  “Okay. But whoever did this is clearly a psychopath. I’m just putting that out there.”

  A shiver crept down my spine. I had little doubt of that.

  I stepped into the stockroom, climbed into the pantry, and searched for last night’s security footage. What I saw chilled my bones. At around midnight, a dark, hooded figure had taken a baseball bat to the wreaths and destroyed every one of them in two minutes flat. I watched as the stranger battered them, crushing the twigs with his feet and ripping the leaves apart.

  I expected a group of teenagers, not this.

  My breath hitched in my throat as I rewound and watched the footage again. Ivy was right. Who would do such a thing? Unfortunately, I couldn’t make the culprit out. Far too dark and the suspect was well concealed. I had half a mind to contact Detective Harper or Woods, but with the Jenny Walker case still looming over everyone, I didn’t want to waste police time.

  “Did you find out whodunnit?”

  I whipped around to see Ivy, my heart pounding in my chest from the surprise. “Ivy! Don’t sneak up on me like that.” I closed down the replay footage and pushed up out of the pantry. “I asked you to look after the shop for me.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s quieting down, and I just had to know.”

  “Quieting down?”

  Ivy thrust her watch into my face. Squinting, I read that it was past one in the afternoon, which was the usual time the Maritime Teashop calmed down. I guess I just lost track of time.

  “Let’s get back anyway. You can help me put out the last of today’s sandwiches.”

  “Mrs. Mayers makes the best subs in the world, for real. They’re usually, like, the size of my face. And I have a big face.”

  “I kept you a smoked salmon one. I thought you’d be hungry.”

  “Yeah,” Ivy grinned. “And tired. For my English final yesterday, Professor Swan had a question about symbolism in every story we’ve ever read in class, and I know she wanted the answer to be death, which FYI, doesn't seem likely. But if I put a different answer, she would have marked it wrong and acted like I was stupid. Urgh. Anyway, I’m glad that class is over.”

  “There will always be things in life you don’t agree with, Ivy. But remember why you enrolled this year?”

  I slung an arm around her neck and ruffled her hair.

  Adjusting her messy bun, Ivy said, “To get my degree so I can work here full-time while paying off a mountain of student loans?”

  I glowered at her. “You know you’ll always have a job here, if you need it, but no. To pursue a career in a field you love. Or to end up working at Mom’s shop.”

  Ivy paused, regarding me closely. “Are you just trying to distract me from the wreath killer? Who was it?”

  I removed my arm and sighed, pausing at the stockroom door. “I don’t know. But with a murderer on the loose, I’d just feel bad complaining about it unless it got really out of hand.”

  She squinted her eyebrows. After a moment, she sighed. “Well, if anything else does happen, I’ll be going straight to Detective Harper. Mom wants me to invite him to dinner, you know.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Talk to the hand, sista. Mom’s orders.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A good quarter of the town had showed up for Jenny Walker's memorial service, which, honestly, was more than I expected, considering her reputation. Or maybe that's why they all showed up. To be sure the old bat was really dead.

  Ivy strolled into the church next to me, both of us dressed in black.

  I chose a simple modern shift dress that came down to my knees, classy and easy to wear all at once. Ivy had opted for one of her long skirts, a black blouse and a cowboy hat. With her hair so dark, she looked even paler than normal, and sort of witch-like.

  Most of the townspeople hovered in small groups and whispered to themselves before they took their seats. My eyes scanned the crowd for familiar faces, and I spotted several. Elena and her husband talked to a small group of other parents. I recognized Malachi and Pops—their breathtaking floral arrangements were on the side table around several photos of Jenny in her prime and afterward.

  Ivy nudged me hard in the side, and I glared at her.

  "Dean's here," she said under her breath.

  I felt my cheeks flush and I refused to look in the direction she indicated.

  "Probably for his investigation. It has nothing to do with me," I said and walked to the display of pictures.

  Ivy trailed after me. "I never said it did. Although, do you want it to?"

  I bit the inside of my cheek. "Well I would prefer not to be wanted for murder. But otherwise—no. I’m as over him as I am Andy."

  Ivy snorted, but thankfully didn't continue. "Whoa. Mom was right. What kind of makeup was she putting on her face to look like this?"

  She lifted an old black-and-white photo of Jenny Walker from the 1960s. Her hair was swept into a low beehive, dark and shiny. Her eyes were heavily lined and the nose that in recent years had grown into a hook, was still big, but not as egregious, above her perfectly made up lips.

  "She looks like a totally different person," I remarked, and it was true.

  Ivy set the picture down and whistled. "You got that right. I wouldn't mind knowing the conditioner that can make your hair that shiny."

  "Your hair is shiny enough. Plus, it probably came from seal blubber or something else horrible," I said and eyed the newer pictures of Jenny Walker and how she looked just a few months before she'd been murdered.

  Ivy wrinkled her nose in an exaggerated manner. "Point taken. Too bad though. What do you think pushed her over the edge to be the way she was?”

  I wasn't sure if this was the best place to be talking about Jenny Walker’s behavior. Still, no one else was within ten feet of us. “I don’t know. According to Mom, she was always a bitter and jealous woman, even when they were only girls in school together. She used to steal Mom’s dolls and cut their hair off.”

  Ivy scooped up the picture from Jenny and Matthew's wedding. The Jenny in that photo was just as pretty, and the man on her arm a handsome, upstanding fellow with some resemblance to the old man we knew now. Though, he was more hunched now and had less hair.

  "Do you think she entranced him with her feminine wiles?" Ivy asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  Mom had insinuated that several times during our lives. Okay, more like consistently. And with Jenny Walker's history, I wouldn't have been surprised. "What does it matter now? He could've divorced her, but he didn’t," I said and frowned at the photo.

  "Oh, you're enjoying pictures of my Jenny in her youth?" Matthew said and appeared suddenly at our side.

  Ivy jumped, and the photo tumbled out of her hand and fell onto the table with the others.

  "Yes," I said and hoped he hadn’t heard us talking about his wife just a few seconds ago.

  Talk about awkward.

  But from the smile on his face, he didn't show that he'd overheard anything out of the ordinary at all.

  "She loved talking about the good old days,” Matthew said, nodding.
“When we were young, and she had her run of the town. I think she was getting nostalgic in her old age. But, I have to say, she'd be happy about this turnout. Looks like half the town showed up," he said with a sad smile.

  Ivy nodded, her emerald eyes like saucers. “Yeah, so many people. Are we going to be going to the cemetery after or—”

  The invitation to the memorial hadn't mentioned anything like that, and of course Ivy would be the one to bring it up.

  Matthew shook his head and carefully sorted the pictures on the table. "No. Unfortunately, the police haven't released her body yet. They said because it's an open murder investigation. But I'm her husband, and I think I should have a right to bury my wife," he said, and his fingers trembled. His lips drew back against his teeth, tightening into a snarl. "I should get to bury her when I want to. Murder investigation or not."

  I glanced at Ivy, whose eyes couldn't get any wider if she tried. "I'm sure it's for the best, Mr. Walker,” I said and patted his shoulder.

  For a frail old man, I was surprised to feel such well-defined muscle.

  "Well, if the police really knew what was for the best, they’d let me get on with my life instead of hanging around her memorial," he said and cast a dark glance toward Dean. Then his expression softened to the typical old Matthew we’d known our whole lives. "Are you going to read something for the memorial?"

  Oh no. I totally forgot I'd mentioned that days ago. Between looking for the murderer and the whole wreath destroying extravaganza, I hadn’t thought of anything.

  "I'm sure Ivy has something prepared. Something beautiful. She, uh, wrote a poem," I said and plastered a smile on my face to hide the lie I’d just told. “A haiku.”

  Ivy nudged me hard in the side again, and I fought not to flinch. "Olive here wrote a sonnet," she said and grinned manically.

  What had I gotten myself into?

  Matthew's eyes sparkled. "I can't wait to hear them. Well, I should go get started.”

  Matthew shuffled away from us, greeting the final guests who’d arrived late.

  I waited until he was out of earshot to glower at my little sister. "A sonnet? I don't even remember what a sonnet is. Do you know how long it’s been since I took English 102?"

  Ivy shrugged and didn't look sorry in the least. "You told him I had a poem."

  "Yeah, a haiku. Which is easier than a sonnet. I think."

  She couldn't contain her giggle, and it burst out along with a wide grin. "It is. So much harder. But I don't think anyone here will notice, and it's not like you're going to get graded on it."

  Still, I glared at her while we slumped into a pair of seats at the front. Dean and his partner, Detective Woods, sat in the back row, and I pretended not to notice. Maggie White was there too, to my surprise. She sat in the front, across from us, and stood out amongst the crowd due to her choice of clothes. Instead of black, she wore a typical pair of jeans and a pale blue sweatshirt, which she usually wore to work at the aquarium.

  Also, unlike everyone else who looked either confused and slightly solemn, she had a smile plastered on her face. And she didn’t try to hide it.

  I thought about the list in my pocket—the one with the suspects—and her name stood out sharply on it. At the time, I couldn't see how the unassuming Marine biologist would want to kill Jenny Walker. But this changed my mind, if only slightly.

  Matthew gave a rambling and teary-eyed speech about how he met Jenny when they were still in high school, their courtship, children, and so on. At some point, he started into a detailed description of the home they shared together. Emerald Cove wasn't exactly in our neighborhood, but it was close enough. They had a Victorian mansion that was slightly larger than the one in the Darrow family, and more foreboding as well. Probably because it was painted a deep chocolate brown with blood red accents and ours was a ridiculous purple.

  The detail on their house surprised me. Matthew went into exquisite detail of every tile inside the house and his love of the smooth wood railing that wound up the center, and many other facets, that had little to nothing to do with Jenny herself.

  My palms sweated as I tried to think of something nice to say about Jenny Walker. Meanwhile, at my side, Ivy typed on her phone.

  Too bad I couldn't come up with a sonnet on the spot. Maybe I’d just read something of Shakespeare's and change a few of the words around.

  A memorial speech couldn't be plagiarized, could it?

  I was going to Google one on my phone when Matthew finally finished and pointed at us. "The Darrow sisters have some poems to read about my dear Jenny. Are you ready, girls?"

  To my relief, Ivy jumped up first. "I am."

  She stepped to the front of the hall, her black Doc Martens at odds with her flowing skirt, and read from her phone. “I titled this poem Mrs. Jenny Walker, a dedication to the woman who touched many of our hearts…” Ivy cleared her throat and then began:

  ‘Jenny came Friday.

  Jasmine tea, strawberry scone.

  Puzzle book open.’

  Ivy was done much too quickly and offered the floor to me. It took all my strength not to laugh. Truthfully, I didn’t think Ivy intended to make people laugh at a memorial service, though her haiku received the odd giggle here and there.

  Ivy had done the right thing, though: she had pleased Matthew, who nodded at her and clapped his hands. Now it was my turn to shine… and not disappoint. I swallowed a lump in my throat. Sure, I spent my days working with the public, but I didn't have to stand in front of them and read sonnets either. My stomach felt like it’d been packed with ice.

  I didn't walk to the front with as much aplomb as Ivy did, and once there I wiped my palms on the sides my dress and stared at the assembled crowd. None of them looked particularly sad to be there, save Matthew, but Maggie White was the only one openly smiling. As if she couldn't keep it off her face.

  Then, my eyes settled on Dean, and I knew I’d regret the words as soon as they poured from my mouth.

  ‘We will always miss Mrs. Jenny Walker,

  Who liked my tea and strawberry scones,

  Our hearts break for poor Mrs. Jenny Walker,

  We cannot believe that she is already gone

  My tea and scones adored Mrs. Jenny Walker dearly

  But we know that her husband, Matthew, will cherish them sincerely

  So please remember Mrs. Jenny Walker

  Who we know was our town’s most sweet avid talker

  Rest in Peace’

  It was met with a series of awkward applause—and the odd stifled laugh here and there—which I couldn't blame anyone for, and I quickly made my way back to my seat.

  Ivy squeezed my hand as I sat down. "Town’s most sweet avid talker? Please. But I didn't know you had it in you. Let's make a promise never to force the other person to read a poem in front of a memorial service again, deal?"

  I let out a shaky breath. "Deal."

  The crowd dissipated toward the buffet table after that, and I pointed toward Maggie White. "She smiled the whole time."

  Ivy watched her closely. "We haven't questioned her yet, either."

  Go get me a few tiny sandwiches, and I'll see what she has to say."

  "Hey, why can’t I do that?" she said and smiled the same way she did when she was five and wanted to help me clean my room.

  Which just meant she wanted to go through all my personal stuff and try on my clothes and make a bigger mess.

  I shook my head. "No offense, but I think I'm a little better at subtlety and tact than you are considering what happened with Malachi.”

  She shrugged. "Fine, but I get to help on the next one," she said and marched toward the buffet table.

  I looked back toward Maggie’s seat, but she was gone.

  Quickly, I scanned the rest of the crowd, looking for her sky-blue sweatshirt.

  There!

  She slipped out the front doors. If I hurried now, I could still catch her.

  "Maggie," I shouted, as I hurried down the
steps, thankful that I decided to go with flats and not heels.

  She turned, and swept her short hair out of her eyes. "Olivia. How have you been since, you know?"

  I nodded. "Good. I didn't expect to see you here, considering your colorful history with Jenny."

  The freckles on her nose stood out in the bright sunshine, and the smile that had graced her lips during the entire memorial service faded. "Yeah. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I was going to come. I thought, why should I show up to that old bag’s memorial service when all she did was berate me my entire life? But then, after talking it through with my therapist, he said it would be good for me. Give me closure or something."

  "Did you have to go to therapy because of Jenny?" I asked and hoped I wasn't overstepping my bounds.

  Mental health issues were a pretty delicate topic, I knew. And while Maggie White was one of my frequent customers, we didn't exactly eat dinner at each other's houses or anything, and I wasn’t at the top of her Christmas card list.

  She scratched the back of her neck and glanced at her white Toyota sitting in the parking lot. "Not exactly her, but she doesn't help. Didn't help. And now—well, I'll never be able to say the things to her I wanted to say, but I'm not sorry she's dead. I don't think anyone is besides her husband. Even then—”

  I nodded. "Tell me about it. She came to the shop every Friday and did nothing but complain about the scones and the tea. So why she kept returning I'll never know. But still, they think someone poisoned her.” I rubbed my bare arms. I hadn't had time to put my coat back on, and at this time of year, San Bas seemed to have a relentlessly cold sea breeze that blew twenty-four hours a day. “I can’t believe someone would do that.”

  Maggie laughed. "Yeah. And it's not like I could blame anyone who wanted to either. After all the things she put people in this town through… it’s a wonder it didn’t happen sooner."

  I licked my lips and tried to think of a more diplomatic way to word it, but I couldn't come up with any. Might as well try with the truth. "I couldn't blame anybody either after the way she acted, but did you tell the police what you did that day?"