by Tabitha Tate
“Great, I’ll close up at four then and do the deliveries before I have to pick up the kids from daycare.” Hannah looked over at the blue and yellow arrangement on the worktop. “Yes, Mrs. Blackwood loves blue irises, they really do have a fabulous blue color, goes really well with yellow roses. The green foliage adds just the right amount of drama, don’t you think?”
“It is just the right amount of drama, goes really nicely with the vase. Do we always put our arrangements in such lovely vases?” asked Beth. Beth noticed every little detail when it came to expenses. A vase like that looked far too expensive—surely there were cheaper options.
“Pretty sharp you are; those vases are nicer than the ones you get at your average flower store but your mother was a smart lady. She bought them second-hand, had a new one delivered to the shop every few months by express courier. Seemed a bit odd, all that expense for a courier service, but I figured it was her hobby. She was always scouring second-hand shops and auction houses for pretty porcelain pots and vases for the shop. The trick is she had an agreement with all our big clients, like the lodge, the hospital, local wedding planners, the wharf hotel and wealthy socialites like Mrs. Blackwood—they get a one-of-a-kind-floral arrangement in a pretty porcelain vase provided they return it when we make our next delivery. Pretty clever if you ask me: the arrangements look fantastic, it sets us apart from the competition and we are guaranteed return business because the clients have to return the vase on the next delivery.”
“And what about those older ones stacked in the back corner of the stock room?” asked Beth.
Hannah put her coffee down on the table and leaned in towards Beth. “I was never really sure what they were for. Those were your mother’s prized possessions; she dusted them daily. I made the mistake of using one of them for a floral arrangement for Mrs. Blackwood once; it made her very angry. I had never seen her so upset. I almost thought she was going to fire me. She made it very clear that those were not to be used for clients.”
Considering her mother’s creativity and her flair for business, it seemed so odd that the shop was in financial difficulty. Beth wondered if her secret life as a pot dealer to the elderly had anything to do with it.
~
Town was busy considering that it was eleven a.m. on a Wednesday morning. Beth followed Hannah’s directions and had walked down the bustling main road to Chase Crawford’s offices. He ran his private investigation firm from a gray double-story building with white window frames and shutters originally built in eighteen fifty-one. A large sign hung above the second floor balcony with the words “Crawford & Co” in bold formal black lettering. The building and the name gave the impression that it was a law practice or perhaps an accounting firm. Beth would never have guessed that it housed the offices of a busy private investigator.
Beth walked up the steps and onto the front porch. She opened the white painted wood door and walked into Chase Crawford & Co. She was surprised to find a modern office layout inside. It wasn’t what she was expecting considering the nineteenth-century exterior but she liked it. A tall blonde woman in her mid-thirties greeted her from behind a sleek dark wood reception desk with a white Perspex floating inlay at the center with the words “Crawford & Co since 1995” written in the same formal black lettering as the sign outside. The woman looked up from her computer keyboard.
“Morning, may I help you, ma’am?”
“Morning, my name is Elizabeth Andrews. I would like to see Chase Crawford; his mother suggested I drop by.”
The woman smiled sweetly. “Oh…I see. Please take a seat, I will find out if he has an opening.” The woman stopped typing, got up and walked down the hall, turning right at the second door. She was wearing a short black skirt, a pink button-down shirt with a plunging neckline and shiny black patent leather heels. Her legs were a lovely shade of brown and her muscular calves bulged in all the right places. Beth sat down in the reception area chair, looked down at her white button-down shirt tucked into dark denim jeans and brown leather loafers that matched the belt of her jeans and wished she had worn something a little more formal. Beth didn’t mean to be judgmental but she couldn’t help but think that Chase Crawford’s secretary looked exactly like the type of secretary a man would hire: tall, blonde and busty. A nice piece of eye candy to drool over at the office.
A short while later, the tall blonde beauty came back followed by a handsome man, not much older than Beth.
“Thank you, Charity, I will see Mrs. Andrews in my office. Please can you bring us some coffee?”
Beth stood up and brushed the creases from the front of her shirt. “Um, it’s Ms. Andrews,” she replied with a high-pitched laugh and followed him to his office.
The office was large, probably three times the size of her own office back in Boston. Two black leather chairs stood in front of a large dark wood table that was empty except for a large Apple computer and a notebook enclosed in a black leather sleeve. Beth could not remember the last time she had seen the top of her wooden desk; it was always piled with papers. A large German Shepherd lay asleep on a soft blue dog bed in the corner of his office. Chase noticed her looking at the dog.
“That’s Lola; she used to be a police dog.”
He waved her towards his desk. “Please take a seat, Ms. Andrews.”
Chase Crawford was devastatingly handsome. He had black wavy hair lightly peppered with gray and piercing blue eyes. His face was warm and his smile was framed by two perfectly dimpled cheeks. The sight of him made her weak at the knees. She blushed, sat down and started to play with a loose strand of hair.
“Thank you, but you really should call me Beth.”
“Okay then, Beth, what can I do for you today?” Chase sat behind his desk, with his chair pushed back and one leg casually crossed over the other. Beth felt like a shy school girl, unsure of where to look or what to say.
“Well you probably already know this but I am Mary-Ellen’s daughter. I am in town to finalize her affairs. I spoke to your mother yesterday; she told me that you have information from the coroner that proves my mother’s death wasn’t a suicide. Is that true?”
Charity came in with a tray and placed two cups of warm coffee on his desk. Chase thanked her, put two spoons of sugar and milk into the cup closest to him and took a sip of coffee. Beth watched his face as Charity left the room, expecting his eyes to be fixed on her as she walked away, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were focused firmly on Beth.
“Look, I understand why you came to see me but my suggestion would be not to get involved. You have no idea what you are getting yourself into. Emily mentioned her suspicions to Sheriff Hunter, but he was not interested in looking into it. If there is one thing I do know, once Sheriff Hunter decides on something like that, there is no going back and he has never been wrong before. He will not be re-opening the case. My mother shouldn’t have troubled you.”
Beth sipped from her own cup of coffee and replied, “I can’t just leave things as they stand. Mom left me with a pile of debt, a struggling flower shop and an employee who can’t afford to lose her job. I need to prove her death was not a suicide or I won’t be able to pay off her debts and sell the flower shop for a good price. I would also like to offer Hannah a decent severance package. This may seem like nothing to you, but it’s a big deal to that poor woman and her children. It also means the world to me. I can’t bear the thought of everyone thinking Mom was a coward who took her own life.”
Chase’s eyes softened. “I see where you are coming from but I still wouldn’t advise you to take this on yourself. I don’t know how much Mom told you but the two of them were involved in things they should not have been involved in. I could look into your mother’s case for you if you like?”
“Your mother told me everything, Mr. Crawford. Mom was not perfect but her heart was in the right place. She did not deserve to die like that. Thank you for your offer but I couldn’t possibly afford your services.”
Chase placed his cup dow
n on the table. “You seem determined, Beth. I must warn you that you are walking into a dangerous situation. The sheriff is busy working on a big case and you need to be careful not to step into the middle of something that could end up putting you in danger. I understand that you are under some financial strain, but please remember that I am always here to talk to. You can call me if you need any advice or assistance.”
Beth thanked him, got up and left his office with his business card tucked in her purse.
That was very strange. What does the sheriff’s big case have to do with Mom’s death? Why was the Sheriff so determined to close Mom’s case without a full investigation? Why was Chase so quick to offer to help me? Beth decided that she needed to be careful: if the sheriff was involved then Chase may have been in on it too.
Beth walked down the main road in the direction of the flower shop. Bartholomew Bay had a small-town atmosphere with an array of interesting shops and quirky townsfolk going about their daily routines. Baskets of fresh fruit and vegetables were on display on the sidewalk in front of the produce shop which stood next to a novelty seaside curio store. A woman sat at a wrought-iron table on the sidewalk in front of Connie’s Bakery, enjoying a freshly baked scone. A woman on a bicycle stopped outside, parked her bike against the window and ran inside for a loaf of fresh bread. It looked wonderful and Beth could see why her mother had decided to move to the Bay where life seemed to be lived a little slower than back in the big city.
Beth stopped at Allison’s Diner for a cup of coffee. It was lunchtime and the diner was full. Allison stood behind the counter chatting to her customers; two young women in jeans and matching pink tee-shirts hurried about with plates of yummy-looking food. The food smelled great and Beth suddenly felt hungry—she had been living on sandwiches at the lodge and a good hearty meal would go down well. Beth sat down on a tall stool at the dark wood main counter, which ran the length of the shop. Allison Landon smiled at her from behind an antique cash register.
“Hello, Beth. I was wondering when you would come by.”
Allison was a hefty woman with scraggly red hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head and kept in place by a brown velvet scrunchy. She was well endowed and the top button of her shirt looked like it was about to pop off under the weight of her breasts. Beth could see right through to the kitchen, where a man with short curly hair and black sunken eyes was shouting orders and inspecting plates before they went out. He was thin and his face looked tired. He was angry about a plate of food that was about to go out and started shouting frantically at a well-built man with dark oily hair and olive skin who appeared to be the grill operator.
“We can’t send plates out like this,” yelled Johnny Landon.
Allison followed Beth’s gaze. “That’s my Johnny, always in the kitchen. Loves to cook; he used to be the head chef at La Petit Paris in New York but he had to leave all of that after his diagnosis. Leukemia.”
Suddenly Allison’s comment after her mother’s memorial made sense; her mother was probably supplying Johnny Landon with medical marijuana. That would explain why Allison had said she had been such a great help. Beth felt proud of her mom; her heart really was in the right place.
“What can I get you, honey?” asked Allison just as one of the waitresses walked by with a plate of shrimp and scallops cooked in a creamy garlic sauce, served on a bed of linguine with a sprinkling of parmesan and black pepper.
“Could I have one of those please?” said Beth and pointed at the pasta.
“Sure thing, and what can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll have a glass of water with a slice of lemon please.”
A middle-aged man in light blue cotton shorts and a white golf shirt was at the counter paying his bill. He looked over at Beth, gave her a cheeky grin, winked and said, “Don’t forget to take a brownie. Allison makes the best brownies in town.”
A look of anger darted across Allison’s face; she quickly tried to hide it with a smile. “Bert! Leave the woman be. Johnny hasn’t finished today’s batch yet.” She pointed to the brownies in a large glass cake tray with a glass cover and said, “Those are two days old. I was planning on giving them to the staff.”
Bert laughed, stuck his hand in under the glass cover and grabbed a brownie. “If these are old, then I’m sure you won’t mind me taking one.”
Allison rolled her eyes at Bert and called Beth’s order in to the kitchen.
Chapter 5
Beth drove up to her mother’s cottage and parked her car under the wooden pergola in front of the garage. The pergola was covered in pink flowering roses which provided a welcome bit of shade. She remembered her mother mentioning that she had taken on the pergola project shortly after purchasing the cottage; she called it her rambling rose garden.
The cottage was perched on a large cliff overlooking the ocean. The exterior walls were painted blue with white window frames, white railings around the porch and a bright red front door.
Beth smiled to herself at the sight of the front door. Just like Mom, she thought, not satisfied with a boring wooden door like everyone else, so she painted hers bright red.
The cottage was nestled on half an acre of land with a lovely green lawn and flower beds laid out to resemble those of an English country garden. Her mother’s roses were in full bloom—it almost felt to Beth as if they had all decided to flower at exactly the same time as a final tribute to the woman who had so lovingly tended to them. Beth remembered how run down the cottage had been and how terrible the garden had looked when her mother bought the place. Years of neglect had put other buyers off but her mother had seen it as a challenge. She had spent most of her spare time bringing her dream of an English cottage and country garden to life and by the looks of things she had done a fantastic job.
Beth walked the stone path to the front door, passing a round three-tiered water feature on the front lawn. She heard the sound of running water and chattering birds as they fought for a spot in the top bowl of the water feature which appeared to be a good spot to take a bath. She stopped to admire the red antique ladies’ Schwinn bicycle parked against the railing of the front porch before knocking on the door. There was no answer. Beth knocked again. She was certain that Bernard was at home—she had seen his car through the garage window. After what seemed like forever, she heard the sound of footsteps and heard someone fumbling with the latch.
The door cracked open and she heard Bernard’s familiar grating voice. “Who is it?” Beth could hear Bernard’s rasping as he struggled to catch his breath and regain his composure.
“It’s me, Beth. I came over hoping to go through some of Mom’s things.”
“Oh…you caught me a bit by surprise. I wish you had called first,” replied Bernard from behind the door.
Beth wedged her foot in the door, sensing that Bernard was hiding something. “Let me in please.”
Bernard pushed back hard against the door from the inside of the cottage. “Just a minute…” She heard the creaking of a second set of footsteps on the wooden floor.
“Who is in there? Let me in now.”
Beth threw her weight against the door, flinging it open. Bernard stood in the entrance; hall his shirt was creased and the top two buttons were open. Beth stormed into the kitchen and found a pretty, petite silver-haired woman with hazel eyes at the kitchen table. Beth recognized her immediately. It was Jack Reynolds’ secretary, Olivia. Beth had met her when she had gone to see Jack about her mother’s will. Olivia was wearing her mother’s dressing gown, her hair was disheveled and her pink lipstick was smudged across her top lip.
“Bernard, what is going on?” asked Olivia. At the sound of her husky voice Bernard turned into a blubbering fool. He looked as if he was about to pass out.
“This is Elizabeth, Mary-Ellen’s daughter,” he replied with a heavy sigh and placed his right hand on his forehead.
Olivia gave Beth a guilty smile and extended a slender brown hand. Her fingernails were painted orange; the color
seemed misplaced. It was far too bright for a woman her age.
“Hi, Beth. Bernard, honey, I know who Beth is, she came around to see Jack earlier this week. I told you all about her little visit, dear, you really need to pay more attention.”
Beth glared at Bernard. “Why is this woman in my mother’s house? Were you cheating on her? Did you know about her cancer?” The words rolled off her tongue quickly, betraying her anger and shock.
Bernard let out a sob. “I had no idea about the cancer,” he wailed. “The first I heard about it was when Doc Jennings told me about it when I called him out to the house the afternoon I discovered her body. I was just as shocked as you when I found out. I assumed that the cancer was the reason for her suicide.”
Beth interrupted him. “Why would someone who had gone into remission commit suicide?”
“I don’t know. I asked Doc Jennings, and he thought that perhaps the drugs she was taking had made her depressed. He said it was quite common for cancer patients to suffer from depression.”
Beth got up, put the kettle on for some tea and took a seat at the kitchen table. A large blue-and-white pot full of fresh roses stood in the middle of the table. The pot looked like those she had seen at the shop.
Beth pointed at Olivia. “And her? Are you having an affair with this woman?”
Bernard placed his head in his hands and nodded as he let out a sob. His hair, which was usually combed to the side, had fallen back to reveal a shiny bald head. His sharp beaked nose had become red and jutted out sharply from the softness of his round pudgy cheeks. Beth couldn’t bear to look at him so she focused her attention on the roses.
“Olivia and I have been seeing each other for a few months…” Beth looked at him, her eyes daring him to tell the truth. “Nine months, Olivia and I have been seeing each other for nine months. Your mother was just so busy, she was always in and out of the shop—she even did the deliveries herself. I felt a little left out. The shop was doing so well and when she told me about her plans to open a second branch I just lost it. She had been promising to slow down, scale back and appoint more staff but nothing ever came of it. I wanted to spend more time traveling but she only had time for her rose garden and the shop. We had just grown apart.”