by Darci Hannah
Both officers were soaking all this in when the EMTs arrived. Sergeant Murdock held them off and called in the crime scene unit instead. The moment she was finished, she turned to me. “For your own safety, Ms. Bakewell, if you have any information regarding the death of Mia Long, call the police and report it. You are not a professional. You should not be investigating this crime. Now, aside from the vomit, has anything else in this kitchen crime scene been compromised?”
“No,” Rory answered for me. “We were all searching different parts of the house. Lindsey discovered the body. The moment she did, we called nine-one-one.”
Murdock gave a curt nod. “Ms. Bakewell and Ms. Kapoor, I know. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Rory Campbell.” He thrust out his hand. Murdock hesitated before she shook it.
“Ah, yes. You were also at the Beacon Bakeshop the day Mia Long was murdered. You spoke to Officer McAllister here. You were the one performing CPR on Ms. Long, is that correct?” Rory nodded. “Very well. I’m going to ask you three to return to the lighthouse. Once there, I need you to call in every one of your employees who was working Friday morning when Mia Long was murdered. I think you’ll appreciate that there is some new information on the case. The death of Fiona Dickel has complicated things, especially since there is suspicion of foul play. Officer McAllister will be around shortly to take new statements from each of you.”
Fiona’s kitchen was getting crowded with all the first responders flocking to the scene. Tuck was about to escort us out when Murdock, with a roll of yellow tape in hand, turned.
“One more thing. Did you come here with the intent of intimidating Fiona to withdraw the lawsuit?”
“No,” I answered. “We came here because Fiona had stolen Betty’s lunch.”
“What?” For the first time Sergeant Murdock broke character. “Are you telling me the sandwich in Fiona’s hand came from Betty’s office?” Murdock locked eyes with Officer Tuck.
“We don’t know that for sure,” Rory answered. “But we suspect the white bakery bag on the counter was Betty’s lunch. Betty told us that after Fiona threatened her with a lawsuit, she took the lunch off her desk and stormed out of her office.”
“Well now,” Sergeant Murdock breathed and shook her head, releasing several wispy strands of blond hair as she did so. “If that doesn’t just open a whole new can of worms.”
CHAPTER 34
“We came as soon as we could,” Elizabeth said, walking through the lighthouse door with Wendy.
“We were having a cookout at my house,” Wendy offered. “Mostly family. Dad’s grilling, but some of our high school friends were there as well. We’re minor celebrities, you know, having worked at a bakeshop where somebody’s died.”
Although Wendy was openly proud of this fact, my insides were cringing at the thought. “I’m truly sorry about all that,” I said, ushering them into the parlor. Rory was already there, sitting in the armchair while sharing one of the armrests with Wellington’s giant head. He was petting my dog with one hand while sipping a scotch on the rocks with the other. It had been a rough afternoon.
After giving my attention-loving pup a thorough round of hugs and smooches, the girls took a seat on the couch. I took their drink orders and went to the kitchen, where Kennedy was helping me with the Margherita pizzas.
There was no doubt in my mind that when Officer Tuck arrived, there was going to be a stressful round of questioning. After summoning my three employees, I got to work on the nerve-soothing snack that had never failed me, namely the Margherita pizza. In my former life, after a tough week in the financial district, Kennedy and I would meet at our favorite pizzeria and order the classic pie that consisted of tomato sauce, soft mozzarella, and fresh basil on a chewy, perfectly fire-baked crust. They weren’t too hard to make at home either. Forgoing a homemade pizza dough due to time restrictions, I had pulled out two cans of the refrigerated kind, rolled them out thin, and covered each with a layer of fresh tomato sauce, a drizzle of olive oil, fresh basil leaves, and fresh slices of soft mozzarella cheese. Once the oven was hot enough, I placed the pizzas on a baking stone and baked each one until the mozzarella was bubbly and the crust a nice golden brown. The first one had just come out of the oven and smelled divine. Kennedy was slicing it up with the pizza cutter while I poured the girls a tall glass of raspberry lemonade. We were still waiting for Dylan, who’d been out on the lake on her cousin’s boat.
Driving from Fiona’s house back to the lighthouse in Rory’s truck, we had talked about the unsettling fact that I had detected the telltale sign of cyanide on Fiona’s breath. It was the sharp scent of bitter almonds, only I had said sour almonds, because my stomach had been heaving with disgust. But the fact remained that the three of us believed Fiona had been poisoned and that poison could have only come from one place, the lunch Fiona had taken from Betty’s office.
There were two troublesome scenarios to consider, knowing that. If the lunch had been tampered with, either someone who was not Fiona was still trying to poison Betty, or Betty had set a lethal trap for Fiona, perhaps even offering her the lunch. I liked Betty. It was hard for me to even consider her a murder suspect, but the fact was, Betty had been in the thick of things in my bakeshop. She and Fiona had been in a feud over the sale of the old Beacon Harbor Lighthouse long before I moved to Michigan. Betty had called me to her office to tell me that Mia had grabbed the coffee out of her hand—the poisoned coffee—but what if that coffee had been meant for Fiona? It was distasteful, but we had to consider it.
Another thought was that maybe one of Fiona’s fellow protesters was the culprit. Fiona was an annoying person on a good day. It wasn’t a huge stretch of the imagination to entertain the possibility that she had pushed one of her followers too far.
On a similar note, Betty might have had other enemies in town as well. She was a friendly person, gregarious and well-connected. She was the type of woman who liked to know what people were up to. And she hadn’t come to my bakery alone, either. Could one of her friends or one of the business owners in town have a secret vendetta against her? Anything was possible. And because it was, it was making matters worse. The list of suspects seemed to be growing, not shrinking.
The one thing Kennedy, Rory, and I all agreed on was that Wendy and Elizabeth would be treated gently. The poor girls had been scared enough after Mia’s death, so much so that Wendy had passed out. Fiona’s unexpected death would have to be delivered tactfully. The only reason they were called in at all was because Murdock believed one of them might remember something important.
“I’ve just eaten a brat, but there’s always room for pizza, especially one that smells as delicious as that.” Elizabeth, tall, thin, self-composed, and pretty, reached out and grabbed a slice.
“Well, I just ate a giant plate of nachos.” Wendy, not as tall as Elizabeth but just as lovely, rolled her big blue eyes. “Don’t like the way my dad grills brats. He cooks ’em until they’re crispy, but I’m going to have one of those too, although I might remove the green stuff.”
“Basil,” I said. “Not a problem. The Margherita pizza is as versatile as it is delicious.”
Making sure Wendy was firmly seated on the couch, we told the girls of Fiona’s death, leaving them a chance to ask questions before Tuck arrived to take another round of new statements.
“Do you think she was poisoned?” Elizabeth asked, eyes wide and nervously wringing her hands.
“There’s a strong chance that she was, but we won’t know for sure until the medical examiner’s report comes back.”
“Oh my God! Oh my God! Fiona Dickel’s dead?” Wendy was starting to hyperventilate. “My mom’s gonna freak. They were in the garden club together.”
“What have I missed?” Dylan came through the door with her boyfriend, Carl, and her cousin, Mike. “Did you say Fiona Dickel’s dead?” She shot me a troubled look. Carl and Mike were stunned as well.
“As a doornail, I’m afraid,” Kennedy repl
ied. “Have some pizza.”
We quickly brought everyone up to speed on the situation. “The police wanted us all here so that they can take new statements,” I informed them. “It appears that Betty suddenly remembered that Mia Long had grabbed the latte out of her hand, the one that was laced with cyanide. Fiona was at Betty’s office earlier today and took her lunch when she stormed out. There’s a strong suspicion that the lunch Fiona stole from Betty was also poisoned. Mike, Carl, you’re welcome to stay. You were also at the bakeshop when Mia collapsed. Officer Tuck will be arriving soon to take new statements, hoping one of us will remember something important.”
“Look,” Dylan said, a slice of pizza in one hand and an Oberon in the other. “I know everyone’s thinking it, but I’m going to come right out and say it. Fiona Dickel was a total stark-raving witch. I can’t believe it took someone this long to bump her off. Not only was she crazy, she steamrolled every committee she was on. And you of all people should know, Lindsey. She wanted to destroy your bakeshop nearly as much as that woman Mia.”
Although Dylan was more indignant than shocked, Mike was clearly struggling with the thought of another death in Beacon Harbor. “Look, I don’t even want to say it, but has anyone considered that Betty might have something to do with this? Betty’s like a mother to this community. She knows everyone’s business and tries to help whenever she can. She never had kids of her own. Beacon Harbor is her child, and she’d protect it at all costs. Maybe Fiona had pushed her too far.” Mike shrugged and took a swig of beer.
“We’ve thought of that as well,” Rory said. “But if she did poison the latte she was holding, why didn’t she give it to Fiona? Why didn’t she swat it out of Mia Long’s hand the moment she stole it from her? Betty might be a busybody, but she’s not a murderer.”
“As far as we know,” Dylan added, her brows drawn in concern. “But there is another possibility. Maybe Fiona’s secret lover tried to poison her?”
“That woman had a lover?” Kennedy, looking a bit bored with the discussion, suddenly perked up. “Whoever he is, he must be a color-blind masochist.”
“It’s a woman, actually,” Dylan informed us. “One of her lighthouse-hating protesters. Cover your ears, girls.” She grinned at Elizabeth and Wendy while pretending to cover her own ears. “I know this because I saw them pawing one another on the dunes. She’s two-timing her artist-boyfriend, Perry Brockman.”
We were about to discuss what this could possibly mean when Welly bounded for the door. Officer Tuck had arrived.
“I’m sorry to put you all through this again,” he said, removing his cap and raking a hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, as you know, there’s been another death. What I’d like to know is which one of you handed Betty Vanhoosen her coffee drink?”
Rory set down his scotch. “Not me, but I made it. I was making a lot of lattes that morning. I think Betty and all her friends ordered some type of latte.”
“It could have been either Dylan or me,” I answered honestly. “There was a press of hands at the counter. It was a madhouse.”
Dylan looked at the young officer. “I just remembered something. Fiona was reaching for the counter too. She knocked off one of the lattes. She could have just as easily slipped poison into one of the drinks. Customers put on their own lid, if they want one.”
“Yes,” Tuck nodded. “Betty had the same observation.”
Wendy, perking up, said, “I remember that too. Elizabeth and I were plating donuts and coffee cake as fast as people could shout their orders at us. But I remember Fiona shoving Betty. She was shoving a lot of people.”
Tuck nodded and scribbled in his notebook. The moment he looked up, the floodgates opened, and we told him everything else we’d discussed, giving him plenty of information on Fiona; her lover, Perry Brockman; her other lover, an unknown lady; as well as our suspicions regarding Betty.
Tuck closed his notebook. “I appreciate everyone’s information. We’ll be looking into all of these leads.” Tuck, all business and no dimples, gave a curt nod and placed the notebook back in his shirt pocket. “I wish I had better news, but the sergeant insists the bakeshop remain closed another day or two, until we have a further look into the matter of Fiona’s death.”
“Wait!” Dylan said, looking visibly put out. “Are we suspects in that one too? None of us were there. How can we be suspects?”
“I didn’t say that you were, Ms. Dykstra. All I’m saying is that the bakeshop is to remain closed until further notice. Also, none of you are to leave town in case we have more questions.”
It was a dour ending to a particularly hard day. The girls had been frightened at the thought of being murder suspects. Dylan, feisty to the core, was angry. Carl and Mike, having been far from the bakery counter during the fracas on Friday, were visibly frustrated with the lack of useful information they could give. When everyone had left the lighthouse, Kennedy, Rory, and I took the remaining pizza and beer up to the light room. Once the pizza was gone and every possible motive for murder exhausted, all that was left was a spectacular sunset.
As the sun kissed the watery horizon, throwing a palette of reds, oranges, blues, and purples across the sky, I suddenly thought of the Captain and wondered what he’d make of it all.
CHAPTER 35
It was nearly dark when we left the lighthouse to walk down the beach with Rory. I had insisted that Kennedy and I go with him. Wellington needed his nightly walk, and I needed to clear my head. As Kennedy and Rory chatted about murder and the new suspicion of Betty, I held on to Welly’s leash, pulling him from the spume of the dark lake while lost in my own thoughts. Soon we were traveling down the crushed stone path through the pine trees that led to Rory’s back deck. We climbed the few steps with him and said good night. He was just about to disappear through the door when I compulsively uttered, “Captain Willy Riggs.”
Rory stopped in the doorway and turned back to look at me. “What about him?”
“I almost forgot.”
Both Kennedy and Rory flashed me a quizzical look. “Forgot what?” Rory asked.
“The night before the grand opening, after we saw that odd light coming from the lantern room, you tried to pass off the legend of the Captain as just a ghost story. I nearly believed you, but I don’t anymore. I hate to admit this, but I’ve been reading up on Captain Willy Riggs and the matter of his death.”
Kennedy stared at me as if I’d just gone mad. “Fabulous, darling. But why in God’s name are you banging on about that now? We’ve already established that your lighthouse is haunted by some old dead guy. Harmless enough. I, for one, don’t want to talk about ghosts when we have to walk all the way back to your lighthouse in the dark.”
“You have Wellington to protect you,” Rory reminded her, and gave my drooling dog a pat on the head. He turned his attention back to me. “Look, Lindsey, I don’t know for sure that your lighthouse is haunted. But it does have some pretty interesting history attached to it, the mysterious death of Captain Willy Riggs being the most sensational part of that history.”
“Well, there’s really not that much evidence regarding his death,” I told them, thinking of the ghost I’d been communicating with. “What I’ve been concentrating on are the facts. Captain Riggs, like every lightkeeper, had sworn an oath to diligently and faithfully uphold the duties of his office, namely ensuring the safety of passing ships and protecting the coast. On the night he died, he was obviously upholding these duties. Every account I’ve read says that he most likely saw something taking place down on the beach that compelled him to leave his post in the lantern room.” I pointed in the direction of my lighthouse. “It’s commonly believed that he was shot during this altercation. It’s also commonly believed that he made it back to the lantern room, where he valiantly kept the lantern going until sunup. The next piece of the story is a fact, which is that the body of Captain Riggs was found in the lantern room on May eighteenth, in the year eighteen ninety-two. Cause of death was a gun
shot wound to the chest. A couple of men from the town went to investigate after a ship’s captain complained to the harbormaster about the dark lighthouse on the point. It was the first time it had been mentioned. It had been speculated that the lighthouse had been dark for two days.”
“Wow,” Rory exclaimed. “You really have been reading up on him. However, regarding the ghost, I really don’t think you have anything to—”
“I know that,” I said before he could finish. “But if the ghost of the Captain is still lingering around, it’s likely because he has unfinished business. Unfinished business seems to be a common thread in hauntings.”
Kennedy, looking a bit spooked, crossed her arms as if to protect herself. “You’re oddly focused on this old ghost, Linds, when you really should be focused on the fact that there’s a murderer on the loose in Beacon Harbor.”
“True. And I am. It’s part of why I’m mentioning all this now.” I looked at them to see if they were following. They weren’t, so I pressed on. “I told you that I’ve been poking into the matter of the Captain’s death, and last night I think I found something important, something that was overlooked.”
Rory’s dark brows furrowed. “Lindsey, I hardly think that’s possible. I’m sure the matter was thoroughly looked into.”
“One would think. But things were different back then. Beacon Harbor wasn’t a tourist destination, it was a busy shipping port. And the law and forensics weren’t what they are today. A lightkeeper back then was supposed to keep a meticulous log of his observations and his duties, including the names of every ship that passed within his view. He would have known all the local captains and the cargos they carried. Legend says that Captain Willy Riggs confronted an unknown party on the night he died, but I don’t think he did. During his time at the lighthouse, there was a lifesaving station down the beach, somewhere in the vicinity of where your house now stands.”