by Louise Lynn
“Badly designed? Missing a few patches?” I offered, but she shook her head.
“Wonderful. It’s just wonderful! Who do you think created it?”
I looked over the display. “I'm not sure. Judging by the amount, it could be anyone. It’s official, though: San Bas is by far the best town in the entire world.”
“Yeah. Excluding that there's a murderer on the loose.”
“Thank you for the reminder.”
A light bulb pinged in my head, though.
“I have an idea,” I said. “Let's take one of these to Matthew. What better way to visit than bringing him a gift on a dark, cold night?”
“So long as it’s not mine,” Ivy said, slinging the white wreath back onto the porch.
I grabbed her hand. “Let's go. I'm freezing my butt off out here.”
As I started the truck and headed toward Emerald Cove, Ivy scrolled through her phone for more research on Wyatt. Meanwhile, I wondered who had reorganized the wreath display. With so many people in the town my suggestions were limitless. Whoever it happened to be, I’d make sure they knew how thankful I was.
And, I’d figure out why nearly nobody had known that the Walkers were selling. They had kept their move tightly under wraps, which seemed… odd to me. It wasn’t like moving away was the crime of the century. Why did no one, besides their neighbor, know they were leaving?
I drove through the long, well-maintained neighborhood of Emerald Cove. Under the night sky, nearly every Victorian home had been kept in immaculate condition, each of them decorated with sparkling Christmas lights.
All except for one.
We didn’t need to stop for directions to Matthew’s home. It was clearly the one on the farthest edge of the neighborhood, perched on a hill that overlooked the boardwalk and ocean. With my front lights shining against the house, the entire building had been painted in a fresh coat of chocolate brown. The roof slates were a rather sickly bloody red and the porch an off white. Odd choice of colors for a home, but who was I to judge?
Our own home was purple, and we adored it. Most of the time.
The view from his driveway was stunning, though, even at night—surrounded by towering, swaying palm trees and the ocean rippling in the distance. It really was a pity about his yard; overgrown weeds and a disregarded lawn spoiled the picturesque view. I bet Emerald Cove looked lovely in summer. It still did in winter, even with Matthew’s yard tainting the neighborhood, but the biting wind was enough to make me wish for warmth. Oh, how I missed summer, and the ice cream trucks that visited our neighborhood every day.
I grabbed one of the wreaths and we pushed out of my truck. To our surprise, Matthew appeared outside of his yard, carrying a ‘sold’ real estate sign under his arm.
Those kinds of signs weren’t exactly light to handle. For a man of his age, he sure made strolling through life look seamless. Perhaps we should’ve asked him to carry down our Christmas tree.
The sound of our boots scraping over his driveway roused Matthew’s attention. “Oh, good evening there. What brings you both here?”
“Hello, Mr. Walker. We were in the neighborhood and wanted to check in on you. And bring you this.” I lifted the wreath and offered a smile. Where was he headed with that sign? “We were sorry we didn’t stay for long at the memorial… have we come at a bad time?”
“Not at all, Olivia. I’m just taking out the trash.” He adjusted the sign under his arm, and I regarded how his knuckles blanched white around it. “Would you like to come inside? That is a lovely wreath, Olivia. Did you make it yourself, Olivia?
I jolted and fixed my gaze on the wreath. His repetitive use of my name didn’t go amiss, either, but perhaps he was just exhausted. I mean, he’d been through a lot.
“Yes please,” Ivy said. “It’s cold out here, isn't it, Olivia?”
I nodded absently. “Are you sure I can't help you with that sign, Mr. Walker? It looks heavy.”
Matthew waved a dismissive hand, his cheeks and nose scarlet in the ever-present breeze. He dumped the sign next to his too small of a trash can, and turned. “No, no. I’m as fit as a fiddle, Olivia. I may not look sixty, but there’s strength left in me yet. I… Since my Jenny moved on, I’ve been spending more time in our guest room.”
“Your guest room?” I enquired, my voice low and gentle.
He was only sixty? I thought he was at least eighty.
We slowly began to follow him back to his house. Every light inside had been switched on. Did he have guests?
“My gym room,” Matthew explained, pointing to the second floor. “I’m not as old, nor as senile as some people think me to be. I still walk to work every day. There’s life in me yet… Yes, there is that. Jenny would want me to go on, which is why I’ve revoked our decision to sell the house. I can’t bear to lose my wife and house—my everything—in one week.”
I smiled and slowly extended him the wreath. “We never knew you were moving away.”
“Oh, not many people did. My dearest Jenny had been the one to arrange it all,” he smiled, though it never quite reached his eyes. “But with her passing, it felt wrong to leave her memories behind. I’ve decided to stay.”
“And we’re glad to hear that, Mr. Walker,” I told him in earnest. “I mean, that you're deciding to stay. If you need anything—and we mean anything—you'll let us know, won't you?”
“Indeed, I shall, girls.”
“May we ask who bought the house?” Ivy chipped in, pausing at the front door.
In the background a telephone rang, but Matthew didn’t seem in a hurry to answer it. If he did have guests present, then they ignored it, too. The phone continued to ring.
He scratched the back of his balding head, and I saw scratches clawing up his forearm. “It’s not confirmed yet, there are some… legal issues. But the person who proposed an offer was that English fellow, Wyatt Edwards. Suffice to say that I have not taken to the young man. He’s been harassing me for weeks now, even before my dearest Jenny passed away, and I’ve reason to believe he contributed to her death. It was all the stress he put her under, nagging her to sign the escrow.”
I recalled their argument at Jenny’s memorial service. It wasn’t a shock to hear there was strain between Matthew and Wyatt. At least now it was confirmed that Wyatt had offered to buy the house. But something had struck me as odd. How could Wyatt have contributed to Jenny’s death when she had been poisoned? It wasn’t like she had died of a heart attack from too much stress or being hounded to give up her house.
Matthew reached for his door handle. Paused. “Are you not coming inside?”
Ivy pulled her gaze from the kitchen window. “Actually, I forgot we promised our Mom that we’d have supper together. One of her favorite meals, so we’d best not miss it.” She spared me a quick glance.
“How about we take that sign away for you?” I offered him, nodding at my truck parked outside the drive. “We can haul it into my truck no problem.”
Matthew beamed at me. After a pause, he nodded. “That would be splendid! And thank you ever so much for the wreath, girls. It’ll hang just nicely on this door.”
As he hung the wreath onto his door, I pulled Ivy back toward my truck. I tried to lift the sign myself, but it was far too heavy.
Matthew really was in good shape.
With the help of Ivy, we managed to drag the wooden sign into the back of my truck.
“Have a lovely evening,” Ivy said, waving at the old man as we drove away.
Matthew waved us off. I veered back down the driveway and he waited a long while before going back inside.
“He really isn't selling after all,” Ivy confirmed.
“No, it seems he decided to keep the house in memory of his dearest wife.”
“You picked up on that too, huh?”
“Yes. And the scratches on his arm. What do you think those were from? Shards of glass from breaking into the aquarium?”
“Or gardening. It could’ve been anyth
ing. Speaking of which, did you spot the foxglove on his kitchen windowsill?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t. I’d been too focused on reading Matthew’s body language. I had put his tenseness down to still grieving for his wife—she’d only been dead a week—but now I wasn’t so sure. Was Wyatt truly harassing an old man? Had he killed Jenny after forcing her to sign the escrow? A horrible feeling lurched in my stomach. Something didn’t feel right about Matthew and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. But I knew that I had to speak with Wyatt Edwards if I wanted to find out.
“If Wyatt really has been harassing Matthew for weeks,” I said, looking over at Ivy.
“He could’ve easily got his hands on the foxglove.”
The next morning, I continued my search for Jenny Walker’s killer. Time was running out—especially with Christmas in less than two weeks—and I knew that if I wanted to clear my name, I had to expose the killer for who he truly was.
Preferably, before it was too late.
I had a new list to get through, and this time, I would finish it without any more hiccups.
Hang up the new wreaths for Maritime Christmas display? Not related to Jenny, but check.
Place Ivy in charge of the shop while I investigate Wyatt? Ick. A slightly nervous check. While she had been reluctant to sit out the visit to SEPOA, I was sure she would be fine. Not to mention Ivy had always gone on about running the shop alone. I loved my sister dearly, but I hoped I wasn’t being stupid by leaving her to man the boat during rush hours. At least Mom was working in her antique shop that day. Worst case scenario, Ivy could fetch her for help.
Next on my list… interrogate Wyatt Edwards and expose him to be the cold-blooded killer of our town’s most hated citizen.
This time, I gulped. Hard. Was I about to confront a murderer? One who had come across so… so calm. Maybe his demeanor had been a stark indicator of his true colors from the get-go. All the signs of a psychopath had been there; arguing with Jenny in the street, moments before she died: breaking into the aquarium to snag the poison, stalking us, harassing an old man. The calmness and refinement had simply been an illusion. A sick ruse. And, I had little doubt that he was the one who ruined the wreath display. He’d clearly tried everything to push me off his trail.
Too bad I was en route to pay his office a little visit.
Apparently, his office had recently relocated to San Bas, and they were based—oh, you guessed it—by the beach.
The salted sea air was strong as I drove toward the ocean. This time, the sky was grey and thick with rain clouds, stretching toward the horizon like a slate sea. By the time I reached Wyatt’s multistory building, it had begun to rain. I pulled my coat tighter around my body, and my hands brushed by the pepper spray in my pocket. If Wyatt was the killer, I had to at least be prepared.
“I’m sorry, Madam, but I cannot let you inside.”
My eyebrows drew together, and I clenched my jaw. “I have an appointment with Wyatt. My name’s Olivia Darrow. Please check your list again.”
I tried to make my voice sound confident and firm, despite the shaking of my hands.
Astonishingly, lying had never been my forte. That was Ivy’s.
The receptionist had been reluctant to buzz me inside the building. And now, standing opposite her desk, she appeared even more reluctant to let me pass through security.
“I’ve checked again, but your name isn’t there. Perhaps I can schedule an appointment with Mr. Edwards? He’s a very busy man, but if you book well in advance, I’m sure we can fit you in somewhere.” She peered at me through her moon-sized spectacles. “Miss. Darrow?”
“Tell him that I’m here. I have a gift for him. It’s Olivia Darrow from Maritime Teashop. He knows me.”
I had also come prepared with two gingerbread muffins.
Was I buying justice with the use of my delicious food? Possibly.
Did I really care when I knew it would save me from prison? Not a hoot.
The receptionist sighed, clearly exasperated with me. But I held my gaze and stared at her, waiting for a miracle.
Then it happened.
Wyatt appeared in the foyer—dressed in an impeccable navy suit—and marched toward the front desk.
“Elspeth, what’s going on here? Is everything alright?”
“Mr… Mr. Edwards, I’m sorry, but this lady kept insisting that you knew her.” The receptionist shot me a hard, unblinking stare. “She was just about to leave.”
When he noticed it was me standing beside him, Wyatt’s blue eyes widened into saucers. “Well this is certainly a… pleasant surprise. Yes, I do know her, and normally it is I visiting you. Is anything the matter?”
I nodded quickly. “Yes. I had something to speak to you about. And I brought some gifts for you—a sort of belated welcome to San Bas present. But I understand if you’re busy…”
I waited, deliberately trailing off my sentence, and gripped my purse. Wyatt’s expression tightened into a firm smile. The first I had ever seen him smile, actually, if you could call it that. Looked more like a twitch of the mouth than anything.
Tugging at his ruby tie, Wyatt nodded to the elevator. “I’m free, and intrigued as to what’s brought you here. Shall we head upstairs for a quick cup of coffee or tea?”
“That would be lovely. I even brought you some gingerbread muffins.”
He pressed for the ride. “You shouldn’t have, but thank you. You know something? This town never ceases to amaze me. Just yesterday, the local baker—I believe I’ve forgotten her name already—handed me over a handful of scones and apple turnovers. You’d never get that in London. And they were so delicious…” He clocked the muffins in my hand, and smiled sheepishly. “But not as good as yours.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, and I was startled to hear him chuckle.
Why was it Wyatt seemed more relaxed outside of my shop? I assumed it was because he was on his own territory for a change. And he was trying his best to elude me.
We stepped into the elevator. My heart began to hammer against my ribs and I focused hard on steadying my breathing. Am I standing beside a murderer? But with the silent journey to the top floor, I felt as though the walls were closing in on me… and I became light-headed.
The latter, however, only a ruse.
I cupped a hand to my forehead and gasped. “Oh no…”
Wyatt placed a hand on the small of my back, steadying me. “Olivia, what’s wrong?”
“N… nothing. Sorry. I just suddenly got light-headed.”
“That’s us here. How about you take a seat and we can get down to business?”
Get down to business? Was I there for an interview? It certainly sounded like it.
“Thanks, Wyatt. I really appreciate your generosity.”
“And I really appreciate your hospitality every day. I hope you know how much your business is adored in this town, Miss. Darrow. Your baking and tea is to die for.”
His pearly-white teeth flashed a perfect smile. I beamed up at him, stepped out of the elevator, and I could’ve sworn that I blushed at his compliment. But reality dangled in the forefront of my mind. If my speculations were right, this man had killed another human being.
As we emerged down a hallway and entered a spotlessly clean, sculpted office, my eyes wandered around me, making note of any escape routes. Only one door in the entire office. Wyatt stopped in front of his desk to survey me. Gone was the aloof businessman from the shop. Now he was all CEO mode of a high-profile business.
“So,” Wyatt began. “What brought you here today?”
No more beating around the bush.
I had to get straight to the point.
I gulped and fixed my gaze on him. “What do you know about jellyfish and foxglove?”
Chapter Eighteen
I watched the Englishman closely, but he didn’t even falter.
“Well, other than there’s been a surplus of them in San Bastion Bay, I can’t say much. Tea or coffee?”
“Tea, please.”
“Of course,” Wyatt smiled, and walked over to his desk.
I watched him move gracefully, press the intercom on his telephone, and then request two peppermint teas.
“As for foxglove,” he resumed, sitting across me on a leather armchair. “Is that a flower? I’m sorry to say I’m not familiar with it.”
“It’s a poisonous flower,” I stated, “and it was used to kill Jenny Walker.”
Classified, probably, but I couldn’t tiptoe around anymore. Looking out the window, I could see the beach and all the tourists strolling down the boardwalk. Birds flew across the gloomy sky. I held my breath and waited for his response.
“She was poisoned? I can't say that I knew that.” He fixed his gaze on the door, where his receptionist appeared, carrying a tray of drinks as if she were waiting for her cue. “Thank you, Elspeth. I hope you took one for yourself.”
The old woman practically glowed in front of him, before clicking her way back outside. Wyatt poured two cups of tea and handed me the prettiest one. A floral teacup with a pink rim.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the tea from him.
Before he pulled his hand back, I caught numerous cuts covering his fingers and hands. From what I could recall, his hand had always been so smooth and perfectly manicured, not a blemish in sight.
Perhaps an injury of sorts from covering up Jenny’s death? Breaking into the aquarium and destroying the otter exhibit? So much for an animal attorney.
“Mmm. Delicious.” I inhaled the peppermint fumes of my tea and looked over the cup toward Wyatt. He was gazing out the window, apparently lost in thought. “I don't suppose you’d know who broke into the San Bas aquarium, would you?”
“Is that why you came here today?”
He turned his gaze on me, unblinking, and I nodded.
“Then I can only disappoint you. I'm still finding my feet in this town and working ridiculous hours, so I don't get much time to keep up to date with the goings on. I hope to change that, though. I really do wish to be a part of this community, Olivia. It’s so different from London. May I ask why you thought I would know?